


As My Lady Commands

by TXloveit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TXloveit/pseuds/TXloveit
Summary: Sansa and Sandor meet again. Sansa is no longer a frightened child, but the Lady of Winterfell. With the Great War upon them, surrounded by enemies, kings and queens will rise and fall. A continuation of Game of Thrones after Season 7.





	1. Sansa

I finished this before Season 8 started and I held out some hope that Sansan would be reunited. I didn’t think they would get a satisfactory ending, but I didn’t realize D&D were going to act like they never even knew each other. If you can’t tell, I am bitter. 

ANYWAY, this is a continuation of Game of Thrones after Season 7. 

GRRM is a genius and these are his amazing, wonderful characters.

...

Sansa stood in the courtyard with Arya and Bran. It was freezing, winter having finally arrived, but she relished the cold. All those years as a selfish child she only ever wanted to be elsewhere, where it was warm. Now, she was home and she hoped to never leave it. The cost of such a simple realization was almost too much to bear. Almost.

But she still had Arya, her murderous little sister, Bran, now the Three-Eyed Raven, and Jon, kneeler that he was. She cherished the time they had left, none optimistic that it would be long.

She was the Lady of Winterfell now. No longer standing in as Queen in the North. Bran wouldn't have the titles and the Northern lords made it clear that even once Jon returned she would still be their Lady, if no longer their Queen, bitter as they were about Jon having sworn fealty to a foreign queen.

Sansa didn't care for the titles. She only cared for the safety of home and family until the dead came for them all.

Though she didn't care for the titles, she was angry that Jon had bent the knee to the Dragon Queen. The Targaryens were no friends to the Starks and she was tired of others having such power over her fate. At least when she was standing Queen in the North she held that power. Now the fate of the North, the entire Seven Kingdoms was in a Targaryen's hands.

She saw her breath in small, white clouds in front of her as the procession made its way through the gate, Jon and the Dragon Queen at the head. She saw Tyrion, Ser Davos, and Brienne not far behind. Her breathing quickened.  


Courtesy is a lady's armor and as the Lady of Winterfell she would behave as expected. However, part of her feared that the Dragon Queen would want to renew her marriage to Tyrion, annulled though it was by her marriage to the Bastard of Bolton. Marriage was the strongest way to cement an alliance after all.

She did not think that Jon would allow it but she also did not know the sway that the Dragon Queen held over Jon. If the Dragon Queen were to demand it, who could deny her?

But Sansa was not the same girl that she had been in King's Landing as a prisoner of the Lannister’s. Thanks to Littlefinger, she could play the game if the Dragon Queen were to force her hand.

In the privacy of her chambers, speaking in hushed tones with Arya, scheming and planning of what may need to be done, Arya had pledged that if the Dragon Queen meant to do them or the North any harm she would kill her. Arya said it with such confidence that Sansa could not deny that it was so. But, she told Arya, that wouldn't be wise. What would the Dothraki and the Unsullied do without their queen? Not to mention the dragons.

Sansa was pulled out of her thoughts when Jon dismounted and then went to his queen's side to help her dismount. She immediately noticed the attention Jon paid to the Dragon Queen and glanced sideways at Arya. She noticed the almost imperceptible look of disdain Arya gave before she schooled her features, much the way Sansa did.

Despite their shared misgivings, Sansa, and she knew Arya too, was excited to see Jon again. As Jon approached, she knew he felt the same. The Dragon Queen stayed behind as Jon, Ser Davos, Brienne, and Podrick approached to rejoin the Stark party.

Despite the severity of the moment, the Starks could not contain themselves. Jon smiled broadly as he laid eyes on his siblings. He was only a few strides away when Arya ran the distance and jumped into his arms. Sansa smiled. Her family was together again.

When Jon and Arya separated, Jon enthusiastically reached for Bran but Bran responded with his usual apathy. Jon looked questioningly at Sansa but she shook her head slightly. She did not wish to discuss it with the Dragon Queen lingering in the background. Jon nodded and reached for her. Their hug was more brief than the one he shared with Arya but that was to be expected.

When he pulled back he said, mostly to her, "We have much to discuss." He turned and the Dragon Queen came forward.

They bowed, Bran gave just a short nod.

"Rise," she said.

Jon made the introductions. "Your Grace, these are my sister's, Sansa, Lady of Winterfell, Arya, and my brother Bran." He gestured to the Dragon Queen, "This is Daenerys Targaryen, rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

...

There was to be a feast in the Great Hall to celebrate the alliance of the North and the Dragon Queen. Sansa had to convince the Northern lords that this was necessary since they were loathe to bend the knee to the Targaryen girl. It would be meager since winter was upon them but would demonstrate good will to the girl that just might save them from the dead with the help of her dragons and armies.

Sansa sat between Jon, the Dragon Queen on his other side, and Arya, Bran on her other side. While tradition dictated that Bran's claim as Lord of Winterfell was stronger than hers as Lady of Winterfell, Bran had made it clear that he was the Three Eyed Raven and heir to nothing. She would have preferred that Bran had taken the title but he was only a shadow of the boy she once knew.

She straightened up and took a drink from her cup. The Dragon Queen was deep in conversation with Jon and Tyrion.

Sansa had to school her features to keep from frowning. The Targaryen girl was proud. Not the pride of a good and noble leader, but entitled and haughty. Upon meeting the Stark siblings and the Northern lords, she was cold, barely acknowledging them before excusing herself and her entourage. Jon followed her, to Sansa and Arya's surprise.

But Tyrion. He was the same as she remembered him. Still kind to her. Upon their reintroduction he was as irreverent as ever. After their introduction to the Dragon Queen, he had come forward and smiled at her. When she curtseyed he had grabbed her hand and kissed it.

The Dragon Queen had raised her eyebrow disapprovingly and said, "I believe you are already acquainted with my Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister."

He released her hand and bowed at the remaining Starks and smiled at her. "My loving former wife, you have grown even more beautiful in my absence. I daresay, widowhood becomes you."

She had to suppress a smile. He was without malice or resentment towards her. As the group had entered Winterfell she had approached him to apologize about abandoning him in King's Landing but he had been uncharacteristically serious.

She had attempted to explain that when Joffrey had been murdered she had a chance to escape and she took it. She said that, though he had been kind to her, she knew Cersei would take her head so she took her escape instead. He had put up a hand to stop her apology.

"My dear Sansa, your apologies are not necessary. I harbor no ill will about your escape from King's Landing following Joffrey's demise. Luck is the only way I was able to escape with my head. I was in no position to save yours. My only regret is what befell you after you left." At this she had stiffened but to his credit, Tyrion had picked up on it. "Come my lady, let us speak on it no more. I will have no more apologies from you."

Sansa was pulled out of her reverie as Arya, staring at the great table to their right, said, "Bloody hell," so low that only Sansa could hear her.

Sansa, alarmed that her stoic assassin of a sister was unnerved, turned to see what Arya was looking at. Sansa's eyes widened when she saw him. She heard Arya say under her breath, "It's the bloody Hound."


	2. Sandor

Sandor Clegane sat in the Great Hall of Winterfell downing the northern sour red and contemplating everything he had heard on his travels about the Starks rise back to power, first travelling with the Brotherhood to the Wall, then with the Stark bastard turned King back to fucking King's Landing, then with the Dragon Queen and her entourage back North to Winterfell.

He heard tell that after her escape from King's Landing, Sansa ended up back in Winterfell while the Bolton's still held it. Rumor told that it was a plot designed by Littlefinger. He didn't doubt that Littlefinger was capable of such a thing but he hated the thought of the Little Bird back amongst enemies. Hated it even more when he heard what her new husband, the Bastard of Bolton, did to her. Rumor had it that her screams could be heard nightly throughout Winterfell. It made his blood boil when he thought of it. But from what the red headed wildling said she had her revenge.

He could scarcely believe it when the wilding told him what befell her second husband. The wildling was there, the Battle of the Bastards they were calling it. The Stark bastard was losing when the Knights of the Vale rode in and saved the day. With a laugh the wildling told him that the Little Bird fed the Bastard of Bolton to his own dogs. "Cold as the fucking Wall itself," he said with a touch of admiration in his voice. Part of him wished the fucker was still alive so he could show him what suffering really was but for her sake he was glad the fucker was dead.

The wildling was a reliable source but they had since parted ways, Sandor south to King's Landing while the wildling stayed at Eastwatch, much to Sandor's relief. He was better company than the buggering Brotherhood but he was a wretched fucker, sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

Soon after their trek north of the Wall, Sandor left with the Little Bird's bastard brother to King's Landing. There he'd seen others he hoped to never see again: Tyrion Lannister, Brienne of fucking Tarth, and his brother among them.

Sandor was not so inclined to despise the Imp once he learned that the Little Bird's first marriage had gone unconsummated, the only way she had been allowed to marry the Bolton fucker. And to his surprise, something of amends was made with Brienne of Tarth. He held no ill will towards her. She protected the Little Bird now and, if rumor told true, she was the only reason Sansa had made it to her brother safely.

But his brother was a different story. There were no amends, no softening of hate and ill will. On the contrary, the things Sandor had seen only instilled in him the sense that there were much worse things than his brother. He no longer feared The Mountain That Rides.

After leaving King's Landing, armies were mobilizing North to Winterfell, then to the Wall where death and the dead awaited them.

Along the way they received news that the Lady of Winterfell had sentenced Littlefinger to death. He thought it was too easy an end for a fucker that lied and betrayed his way to her side. That held a knife to her father's throat and betrayed her to her enemies.

Sandor was within earshot as Brienne of Tarth and her squire discussed it. She was both relieved that the snake was gone but disturbed that the Stark girls did it themselves. He thought she must have wanted to carry out the sentence herself.

Now Brienne of Tarth stood behind the Stark sisters, eyes ever watchful, as Sandor drank and tried not to stare. He was failing miserably.

Of course on his travels, he had heard of the Lady of Winterfell's beauty. With so many men and so few women, bawdy soldiers loved a good tale of a highborn beauty. To both his and Brienne of Tarth's ire, the Lady of Winterfell was a favorite topic of conversation.

She was commonly known as the Queen of Ice among many, from her time as standing Queen of the North. Some said she was more beautiful than the Dragon Queen. Sandor knew this to be true. Others spoke of her with respect and awe, that she was clever and a natural leader. A minority, however, held the opinion that she was cold and calculating and harsh as the winter. They would use the fate of the Bolton bastard and Littlefinger as examples.

Sandor thought it was horse shit. Those fuckers got what they deserved.

He had laid eyes on her from afar as the Dragon Queen's procession made its way through the gates of Winterfell. There she stood, tall and erect, next to her stoic, wolf sister, her cripple brother last.

Neither his memory nor the stories did her justice. Back in King's Landing she was only a frightened girl, on the verge of womanhood, beautiful, graceful, courteous, all the things that are expected of a highborn lady, but still just a girl.

Now, she was a woman grown, tall, proud, with a woman's figure, and so achingly beautiful that for several moments he could look nowhere else. She stood in the snow wearing a dark green dress with a grey direwolf sewn onto the neckline and a fur lined cloak draped over her back. Her auburn hair in a long braid coming over her shoulder. The Queen of Ice indeed.

He remembered all those years ago, his first time in Winterfell, his first time laying eyes on her. How she seemed out of place. A southern child out of place amidst the winter.

It no longer seemed that way. She seemed to belong. More than belong. The way she held herself, proud and beautiful, composed and as though she belonged nowhere else, she looked more like a queen than the Targaryen girl. There was no question who was more beautiful.

A serving girl refilled his cup, pulling him back into the present. As much as he tried he knew he had barely taken his eyes off of the Lady of Winterfell. He had spared a glance or two for her sister. Rumor had it she was a killer now.

He knew there was no "now". The little wolf had been a killer before too. Now she was just better at it, if the rumors told true.

Sandor's mouth twitched in a smirk as another northern lord went to the table at the head of the Great Hall to pay their respects. They deigned to the Lady of Winterfell, not the Dragon Queen or the bastard that should be their Lord. But ever the proper lady, she would make introductions and diffuse the strain in relations.

And Sandor was not blind. Many of the lords were overly friendly, clearly seeking her favor. To his credit, her brother noticed and seemed none too pleased. However, Sansa did not seem to notice. She was courteous to them all, though he noticed her smile did not reach her eyes unless she was speaking to her kin.

He wondered what would happen if she saw him. The last time he had seen her was in King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. He held a knife to her throat and took a song and left his cloak.

Now she was the Lady of a great house. She could put him to death if she wanted. If she was as cold as they said, maybe she would.

He took another long drink.

So deep in thought, he did not notice her sister had seen him.

He saw the Little Bird mutter something to her sister then look in his direction. Then suddenly, they were both looking at him.

The Lady's eyes widened and he noticed a blush creeping up her cheeks. Gods be damned, it only seemed to make her more beautiful. Her gaze was unflinching and he knew she was not the child she used to be when she could not stand to look upon his face. He didn't know how long they stayed looking at each other. He saw in his periphery, Arya look from him to her sister and back to him.

Brienne of Tarth, standing behind them, had noticed their discomfiture and stepped forward and spoke to them. Sansa finally looked away, breaking their eye contact.

He stood abruptly and left the table and the Great Hall.


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature for language, future violence, and future hints of lemon.

That night Sansa scarcely slept at all, but tossed and turned just as she had aboard the Merling King. She dreamt of Joffrey dying, but as he clawed at his throat and the blood ran down across his fingers she saw with horror that it was her brother Robb. And she dreamed of her wedding night too, of Tyrion's eyes devouring her as she undressed. Only then he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. "I'll have a song from you," he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. "I wish that you were Lady," she said.

Excerpt from A Storm of Swords

...  
...  
...

Sansa sat in her bedchamber near the fire. The sight of Sandor Clegane had thrown her mind into chaos but on the outside she remained composed. No one, save perhaps Arya, could see through her armor of courtesy.

He was here in Winterfell. He sat in the Great Hall with the soldiers. The years had done nothing to soften his appearance. Perhaps it was her memories that had softened him only in her mind.

He was still one of the largest men she'd ever seen, hulking, muscled, powerful. He dwarfed the men sitting next to him and she wondered how it was that she had ever missed his presence in the Great Hall. The scars on his face were as prevalent as ever, angry, red, and twisted but his eyes had changed.

As a girl in King's Landing, it was never his scars that frightened her, it was the rage in his eyes. But tonight at the feast, she had stared into his eyes for longer than was proper, and that rage had been replaced by something else. Though what, she could not say. Sadness, grief, longing?

Sandor Clegane had changed since she last saw him. It left her wondering what else had changed about the Hound and why was he in Winterfell?

Before she could ponder on it any longer, someone tapped briefly on her chamber door and entered without waiting for a response. She knew it could only be Arya. Brienne was guarding her door but only Arya would enter without awaiting a response.

Arya had a small smile on her face and walked energetically to sit across from Sansa at the fireplace.

Sansa smiled, "You've spoken with Jon?"

Arya nodded. "He's gone to speak with Bran." She shrugged, "We'll see how that goes."

Sansa nodded, "I spoke with him briefly about what to expect when dealing with Bran but the four of us will meet on the morrow. We can discuss the future of the north. The future of Winterfell. The dead."

Arya was no longer smiling, just looking thoughtful. She nodded. "Did Jon say anything of the Dragon Queen?"

Sansa sighed, "Not much. Just that she has vowed to fight for us against the dead. I'm sure we will discuss it at length on the morrow."

Arya nodded. "I don't like her."

Sansa gave her sister a small smile. "I thought, of all people, you would assuredly admire the Dragon Queen."

Arya sighed, "I thought so too but she's arrogant and cruel. She demands loyalty and love from those who serve her but those are earned, not demanded."

They had heard rumors of the Dragon Queen but they had only been rumors. Sansa asked curiously, "How do you know? We've only heard rumors."

Arya looked at the fire blazing in the hearth, "The Faceless Men taught me more than just how to kill and tell a lie."

They stayed in silence for a moment. Finally, Arya spoke, "Jon's fucking her. The Dragon Queen."

Sansa sighed heavily, "I know."

"Shall I kill her now?" Arya asked casually.

Sansa was still taken aback that her younger sister could speak of killing so casually. She shook her head. "No. Not yet at least. Besides, Jon wouldn't be happy."

Arya shrugged, "He'd get over it."

It was quiet once again.

Again, after a time, it was Arya who broke the silence. "You saw The Hound."

It was more of a statement than a question, so Sansa just gave a curt nod.

Arya continued, "I told you I left him for dead. I thought he would die. He thought he would die. Begged me to kill him. Not so easy to kill, it seems."

Sansa felt a pang of fear, "Is he on your list?"

Arya looked at her sister carefully, "He was. And then he wasn't."

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The observant assassin noticed.

"What is he to you?" she asked curiously.

Sansa's brow furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"You were relieved that I'm not going to kill him. I saw the way you looked at each other in the Great Hall. You looked as though you had seen a ghost." She hesitated, "When we travelled together he spoke of you several times. At the time I thought he was lying, but now… he said he saved you from a mob and that you sang for him. You don't speak much of your time in King's Landing."

Sansa's heart stuttered. She wasn't sure how to answer but she also knew her sister would spot a lie. But what reason did she have to lie?

She nodded her head slowly, "He did save me from the mob. They wanted Joffrey but they would have raped and killed me. He saved me many times besides that. Joffrey was cruel. I was beaten and humiliated constantly. He tried to help me. As best he could. He was the only one. He's not a kind man. Gentleness does not come easily to him but he did what he could in his own harsh way. The night of the Battle of Blackwater he offered to take me away. I thought Stannis would win and let me return home so I declined. I often wish I had left with him."

Arya didn't speak, only looked thoughtfully at her sister.

Sansa spoke again, quietly. So quiet Arya had to lean forward to hear. "I've dreamt of him…" she began to blush thinking of the night Littlefinger had married her Aunt Lysa when she dreamt of the Hound in her bed, the redness creeping up her neck, "more than once…"

Arya stood suddenly, startling her. She opened the door and called Brienne inside.

Brienne nodded at Sansa, "My Lady."

Sansa nodded in return.

Arya sat back down across from Sansa and turned to Brienne, "You traveled from King's Landing with Jon's party, correct?"

Brienne nodded, "Yes, My Lady. Though your brother traveled on the same ship as Queen Daenery's. Pod and I were on a different ship."

Arya nodded and Sansa wondered what she was getting at. "Did you travel on the same ship as the Hound?"

Brienne, seeming to understand the line of questioning, nodded. "Yes, My Lady. I saw him first at King's Landing. He was travelling with your brother. He was part of the party that traveled north of the Wall to capture one of the dead. He seemed to have charge over it. When we arrived in King's Landing he was the one that carried out the wight for the demonstration. He traveled on the same ship as Pod and I to return to Winterfell."

Finally Sansa spoke, "Do you know how he ended up with Jon? Why he came to Winterfell?"

Brienne replied, "I don't know, My Lady. I believe he was with the Brotherhood Without Banners at Eastwatch by the Sea when your brother showed up. I'm not certain besides that."

Sansa nodded. "Was he angry when he saw you? You did try to kill him."

Brienne looked down, "Actually no, My Lady." She looked at Arya then, "We came to something of an understanding. We were both trying to protect you. I do not believe he harbors any anger towards me."

The sisters looked at each other. Brienne looked at them questioningly but stayed respectfully silent.

Sansa got up and poured them each a glass of Dornish red. Brienne declined a cup, as Sansa knew she would.

She sipped thoughtfully until Arya's next words had her spluttering in a most unladylike fashion.

"Sansa, have you ever been fucked good and proper?"

Sansa coughed as Brienne indignantly cried, "My Lady!"

Arya rolled her eyes at her companion's reaction. "Come now, I expect that sort of reaction from the Maid of Tarth, but really Sansa, you are no maid." At her sister's hardened expression, Arya continued in a more understanding tone. "I know you don't like to speak of the Bastard of Bolton but you said that Tyrion did not consummate your first marriage. I'm only wondering if you've been fucked properly before then… or perhaps since then?"

Sansa did her best to keep memories of her time spent with Ramsey from her mind. It was not lost on her that Arya brought this up right after their discussion of the Hound. She thought again of her dream and blushed.

Brienne was looking at the ground, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

She sighed, "if you must know, no. Ramsey was the only one."

Arya made a face, "Part of me wishes he was still alive so I could kill him myself but that is quite unfortunate. I'm sorry for what he did to you."

Sansa nodded and took another drink from her cup.

Arya continued, "So you have thought of fucking the Hound?"

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed.

Brienne looked up in what Sansa could only describe as horror.

Arya rolled her eyes again, "From what you've said it's clear he cares for you. Bloody hell, he was the only one it seems, at least for a while. And you've thought about him in your bed." Sansa was blushing scarlett as Brienne glanced from sister to sister trying to measure the truth. "And I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. The way he was looking at you all evening."

Brienne spoke up, "My Lady it would not be proper. Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell. Clegane is baseborn. Among other things. Dangerous. Vulgar."

Sansa spoke up, surprising both her companions. "He wouldn't hurt me." She looked from Arya to Brienne guiltily, the former was smirking. She sighed heavily, "That does not mean that I'll be taking him into my bed. Brienne is right, it wouldn't be proper."

"Fuck proper," Arya said casually. "Sansa, we may all be dying very soon. Take comfort where you can find it. And I cannot believe I'm going to say this but, you could do much worse than the Hound. Seven Hells, you have done much worse than the Hound." She smiled mischievously, "and if the size of a man is any indication of the size of his cock, you may find quite a bit of comfort."

"Gods Arya!" Sansa exclaimed indignantly but she couldn't contain her smile. She would be lying if she said that had never occurred to her.

Brienne looked extraordinarily uncomfortable, "If you no longer have any need of me, I'll be outside your chambers my Lady."

Arya feigned offense, "You mean you don't want to hear more about the Hound's massive cock?"

Sansa had to giggle at the look of abject horror on Brienne's face. Sansa had mercy and dismissed her.

Maybe it was the Dornish red but curiosity overrode Sansa's better judgment and she asked, "Arya, have you lain with a man?"

At the knowing look on Arya's face she continued tentatively, "Many men? 'Good and proper', as you put it?"

Arya laughed, "My dear sister, those questions are not proper!"


	4. Sandor

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them."

He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the  
arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters  
through this fray, soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking.

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone.

Excerpt from A Clash of Kings

...  
...  
...

It had been four days since the feast and Sandor had only seen the Little Bird once. The day after the feast the Stark siblings had been scarce. It was to be expected.

The next day he had seen her whilst in the training yard. She was on the rampart above, in deep conversation with her sister, Brienne following behind. The training yard was full of men sparring, preparing for the battles to come. Brienne's squire among them.

One of the men was a pompous cunt they called Harry the Heir. He was one of many lords Sandor had seen in the Great Hall so obviously hovering over the Little Bird. The cunt was handsome. A knight of the Vale. The type she would've once pined and fawned over.

Sandor ground his teeth. The object of his scorn had noticed the Stark sisters on the rampart above and hurried up to meet them. He couldn't hear what the cunt was saying but he was clearly attempting, and failing to Sandor's great amusement, to gain the Lady of Winterfell's favor. Harry the Horses Arse was gesturing to the Lady. Sandor smirked when he noticed the younger Stark girl almost imperceptibly roll her eyes. Almost. The Lady was courteous but clearly not interested. She nodded him away, though politely, and continued with her sister.

The Heir, clearly wounded though needing to save face, strode back to the training yard with a smug look.

Another knight from the Vale, called to him. "What are you looking so pleased about Harry? The Queen of Ice obviously doesn't favor you."

Sandor was pleased he wasn't the only one to notice.

His amusement was gone the instant the little fucker replied. "Not yet. But that cunt of hers will melt for me soon enough."

Several of the men laughed but most looked affronted. They were Northmen, after all. But to Sandor's surprise it was Brienne's squire that spoke up.

"You ought not speak of the Lady that way." He spoke boldly but his trepidation was clear. He was only a squire and the Horses Arse was a knight and second in line to inherit the Vale.

The latter looked taken aback but recovered quickly. He laughed without mirth. "A squire to defend the Lady's honor! I've heard tell that you travelled with the Lady and Brienne the Beauty North to Castle Black. Do you defend her honor so stoutly because her cunt melted for you, squire?"

Podrick spluttered but before he could reply, Sandor spoke. His voice was low, a warning growl, "You're a talker. I don't like listening to talkers." He dropped his sparring sword and drew his real sword. "Any more words come pouring out of your cunt mouth and we'll be crossing steel."

The men were all silent, looking from Sandor to the Heir, whose smug look was now replaced by apprehension at the seasoned warrior's threat.

To save face, he finally smiled hesitantly and put his hands up as if in surrender. "I only spoke in jest! I meant no disrespect to the Lady."

The men had continued sparring and Podrick the squire had given him an appreciative nod that he ignored. He had not noticed the Little Bird's sister watching the exchange curiously. He left the training yard soon after.

That was yesterday and he had not seen her since. Sandor sighed as he headed to the training yard yet again.

He was conflicted. He still couldn't explain exactly how he'd ended up at Winterfell. He was with the Brotherhood at the Wall when the King of the North had shown up. Sandor helped capture the wight, but instead of staying at Eastwatch with Beric and the red-bearded wildling, he felt the need to travel South to see it through.

From King's Landing he could've travelled back to Eastwatch. Seven Hells he could've gone anywhere. He could've done like the Greyjoy fucker and left Westeros altogether. If he were a smart man he might have. But he had followed her bastard brother, no longer a king, back to Winterfell where he knew she would be. Perhaps he had wanted to end up near her all along. But seeing her again, being near her, was torment.

In King's Landing, she was a beautiful child that he wanted to protect. Why? He could not say but he failed miserably. She suffered at the cunt, Joffrey's, hand and he could only try to ease her suffering. Protect her when he could. Tell her how the world worked since her honorable father and mother had only filled her head with sweet songs and stories. She learned the hard way that life wasn't like the songs and most were not like her father and mother. Most were liars and killers.

Several times in King's Landing his protection could have meant his life but, stupid dog that he was, he never stopped to consider that and he never let himself ask why he did it.

But he wasn't a liar, not even to himself. The night the Blackwater burned, he wanted her, meant to have her. He wanted her to go with him willingly but her refusal had angered him. She was still just a stupid little bird, thinking Stannis wouldn't use her for his own purposes. He pushed her on the bed and held a knife to her throat and meant to take her. But he hadn't. He wasn't sure if it was her song or if he could have gone through with it.

Maybe going to Winterfell was his way of making up for that night. Fighting alongside her brother and the Northmen against the dead.

Maybe.

But maybe he was still a sick fuck and whatever madness possessed him to protect her in King's Landing, also led him to her ancestral home. Just to be near her before the dead came and killed them all.

Sandor wouldn't admit to himself just how often she was in his thoughts over the years since their parting. He had wanted to believe she was safe but the rumors proved otherwise.

But having seen her three days past, she was every bit the Lady her noble parents raised her to be. No sign of the torture she had endured was evident in her proud bearing. She was a highborn Lady, graceful and so fucking beautiful.

Sandor swore. This would not do. So engaged in his thoughts he had not realized he was now nowhere near the training yard. He turned around and climbed up to the rampart so he could see where he was going.

Winterfell was quiet. It was early and the castle was not bustling with the regular activity yet. Sandor hoped to get to the training yard before it became crowded with more pompous cunts, like the Heir, who thought this war was a game for glory and not likely certain death.

He heard voices as he approached the parapet leading to the training yard. He recognized the one speaking as that of Jon Snow. Sandor turned the corner and saw who he was speaking to.

The Little Bird was looking at her brother as he spoke. They were standing on the rampart above the training grounds, talking privately. Both turned away from him. Though he could not see her face, her Tully auburn hair was noticeable at first glance.

It was Snow who heard his approach first and turned towards him. He stopped speaking and called out, "Clegane, come here for a moment. Although I believe you've already met, this is my sister Sansa, Lady of Winterfell."


	5. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LONG chapter. Sansa and Sandor finally meet after all these years!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi, I do NOT like Dany at all. The episode where she meets Jon for the first time had me cussing at the TV (she was being SO entitled). Plus, she kinda treats Tyrion like crap (gets mad at him when the Lannisters defeat the Tyrells, mad at him when he suggests she name an heir, doesn't heed his advice when it comes to the Tarlys, etc). And I know you can argue that she's earned it but since this is my fanfiction, I will portray her as entitled, haughty, cruel, and arrogant; all traits she has shown at some point (at least IMO). Sorry Dany fans. I really did start out liking her...

The week following the feast was probably the most eventful and worrisome of her life. And that was saying something.

The Stark siblings met the day after the feast and Bran gave them the most unexpected news. Her half brother Jon was not her brother at all but her cousin. He was the legitimate child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark and his given name was Aegon Targaryen. Ser Davos was directed to summon Samwell Tarly to confirm this, which he did, even providing proof from the Citadel. While the Stark girls, Ser Davos, and Sam were delighted about this revelation, Jon was not.

With his usual matter-of-fact tone Bran told Jon, "You are the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne belongs to you, not Daenerys Targaryen."

There was silence for long moment, each considering what this might mean. Finally, Jon spoke quietly, "I don't want it."

Sansa spoke consolingly but firmly, "Jon, it doesn't matter. You assumed the role of King in the North because it was your duty as Ned Stark's son and your people chose you. You are a just and kind ruler. Like father. You are what this kingdom needs."

Arya agreed, "Sansa's right, Jon. Word has reached us of the Dragon Queen's so called justice. Rumor has it that the only reason she hasn't taken her dragons and laid waste to the Seven Kingdoms and anyone who stands in her way is because of the Imp."

Samwell spoke, grief evident in his words, "She had her dragons burn my father and brother alive, Jon. Cersei Lannister would be a better queen than that."

Jon shook his head. "No. She's not like that. This is war. Hard decisions must be made."

Ser Davos, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke up. "You were there Jon. Only Tyrion and Varys stay her worst impulses. She has too much of her father in her. You've seen it yourself the day you met. Her arrogance, her conceit, her entitlement. Her people bleed for her, she doesn't bleed for them."

"The realm will bleed, Jon, and you with it," said Bran. "But Daenerys Targaryen, she sees only the throne and herself seated upon it. She and Cersei have that in common."

Jon was still in denial. "You don't know her. She's kind. Loved by her people, former slaves that she freed."

"Slaves she freed into her service. Feared, not loved," replied Bran.

"Let's just…" Jon trailed off. "Let's just keep this to ourselves for now. We need her armies. We need her help to win this fight. Can we just agree to keep this between us until the time is right?"

They had agreed.

The very next day they were to meet with the Dragon Queen and her court. She could tell Jon was nervous that Bran might give their secret away. In truth, she hoped he would, but they had other news to discuss.

In his casual and indifferent manner, Bran informed them all that Cersei had betrayed them. She had no intention of helping them defeat the dead. Instead, she sent Euron Greyjoy across the sea to recruit sellswords and mercenaries. Her plan was to set sail with the Lannister Army and meet Euron at White Harbor. Together, they would march on Winterfell with more than 25,000 men and, while the majority of the armies were north fighting the dead, they would raze Winterfell and the remainder of the living north to the ground.

Even worse than that, the Night King had resurrected the fallen dragon, Viserion, and felled the Wall at Eastwatch by the Sea. The Army of the Dead was now on the march south.

Also, surprising everyone in the room and delighting Tyrion, Bran also told them that Jaime Lannister had abandoned his sister and was marching north with several hundred men still loyal to him and to the living. This was why Cersei was marching North with her armies rather than waiting for the winner of the living and the dead to emerge; her loyal brother had betrayed her. Sansa noticed that Brienne started at this news and appeared flushed. The Dragon Queen, however, became angry with her Hand.

Her eyes blazed as she spoke to Tyrion, her resurrected dragon forgotten in her anger, "You were supposed to convince your sister to fight with us. Instead she betrayed me." Her voice was full of malice as she asked, "Did you know of this betrayal? You're very clever Tyrion, perhaps it was your idea? None but you and her know what was said between you."

Tyrion's delight at hearing of his brother was quickly replaced with shock. He vigorously shook his head, "My Queen, of course not. She betrayed me as well. And my brother."

The mention of his brother only seemed to anger her more. "Your brother, the Kingslayer, who put his sword through my father's back? The same brother that she marches North for?"

He swallowed thickly. "Well how do we even know that what the boy says is true?" He glanced at Bran, "I mean no offense."

The Dragon Queen turned to the Starks, mistrust clear in her eyes. "Yes. How do I know that what the boy is saying is true? How do I know that this isn't some plot designed to turn us against each other?" she asked haughtily.

Bran turned to Tyrion. His eyes went white. "Your first wife was named Tysha. You loved her and she loved you but you watched as they raped her. You didn't kill Joffrey but you were put on trial nonetheless. 'I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you... I know I'll get no justice here, so I'll let the gods decide my fate. I demand a trial by combat.' And Shae, you killed her with the golden chain you gave her then you said sorry to her corpse."

Tyrion went white in the face at Bran's knowledge of his life.

Varys was staring at Bran curiously. "My Lord, how do you know all this?"

"I'm the Three Eyed Raven." He answered.

Varys, confused, asked, "I'm sorry My Lord, I don't know what that means."

"I see quite alot."

But the Dragon Queen was still skeptical. "How do we know you weren't told all this about Tyrion by someone else? Tyrion is quite well known, as are his deeds. Anyone could have told you this."

Bran's eyes went white again. "You loved Khal Drogo. You loved him so much that you sacrificed the life of your unborn child for his. Mirri Maz Dur was the witch's name. The price of blood magic. 'When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.'"

As he spoke, the skepticism left her bearing. And when he began to speak a tongue that Sansa didn't recognize, the Dragon Queen paled.

When he was done the translator named Missandei spoke. "My Lord, you speak Dothraki?"

"Of course not," Bran said.

"Then how…" she trailed off.

"It's as I said, I see much." He looked back at the Dragon Queen, "Do you require more proof?"

As it was, she didn't.

Once they recovered from the initial shock of Bran's revelations, they began to plan. It was decided that Daenerys Targaryen and her armies of Unsullied and Dothraki would go North with Jon, Ser Davos, and half the Northern armies. The Dragon Queen said that she would handle Euron Greyjoy. At this, her and Tyrion exchanged a knowing look and he inclined his head. With that taken care of, the other half of the northern armies would remain in Winterfell and wait for the Lannister Army. When Varys expressed doubt that Cersei would still march on Winterfell without Euron and an army of mercenaries backing her, it was Sansa that spoke up.

"She can't stop now. She's gone too far. If we lose the war against the dead, it's only a matter of time before she loses it too. If we win, well she'd have a better chance defeating what's left of our armies if we're split. And who would follow her or call her queen if she calls her armies only to retreat when her allies abandon her? No, she won't stop at White Harbor, even without the Greyjoys behind her."

Tyrion looked impressed but the Dragon Queen less so. She looked to him for affirmation. He nodded, "Lady Sansa's right. The only way Cersei can possibly win and still hope to retain the crown is if she defeats the Northern Army here at Winterfell and whatever's left of the army that comes back from defeating the dead. Assuming we do defeat the dead, that is. She'll start marching on Winterfell, expecting Euron to join her along the way. She'll be too far North to turn back once she realizes the rest of her army isn't coming. And with Jaime marching to help us, she'll never turn back even once she realizes she can't win."

With so much to discuss, the group did not part until the early hours of the morning.

...

Later that evening Sansa and Arya were discussing the plans and the wisdom in keeping Jon's true parentage silent as they walked through the ramparts.

The sisters agreed that the knowledge should be made known. Sansa believed that the Dragon Queen should be made aware soon, otherwise, it might be perceived as deception and betrayal. It might even be said that they kept the knowledge to themselves to use the girl for her dragons and armies. Anything might be said to cast suspicion and doubt upon a tentative alliance.

Arya suddenly stopped walking and leaned against the railing. Sansa did likewise, while looking at her curiously.

Her next words were barely above a whisper, her mouth hardly moving, meant to give the impression that she had said nothing at all. "We agree that the Dragon Queen should be made aware sooner rather than later. Who knows what she would do should we win this war with her assistance and she learns she will not rule the Seven Kingdoms as she's wanted all along. If we leave it up to Jon, this secret will never be revealed and she will end up on the Iron Throne. But what if Varys was to learn of this secret? He would assuredly tell his queen and none of those bound to silence could be blamed."

Sansa smirked at her devious little sister, suddenly aware that one of Varys' little birds must be hovering about. She gave a small nod and in a voice deliberately designed to sound as though it conveyed secrets, she let their secret known.

They knew it was only a matter of time now before word reached Varys and he informed his queen. Only a matter of time before the Starks would be summoned before the Dragon Queen.

...

Now she was on the rampart with Jon, he refused to be called Aegon, planning how best to separate the Northern armies. Jon wanted the best fighters of the north to stay in Winterfell, including the Knights of the Vale and the Mormonts. Sansa didn't think it would be wise.

"You will need the best army we can provide to defeat the dead. Especially the Knights of the Vale, five thousand mounted swords. Jon, the Lannister Army is a southern Army. Even if Cersei lands in White Harbor with ten thousand men, it's still a 350 mile march here in the dead of winter. At least half her army won't survive. When they finally do arrive, the survivors will be exhausted and discouraged. Our armies won't even have to leave the safety of Winterfell's walls. She should have learned from Stannis' defeat. We will learn from Ramsey's."

Jon sighed. "Sansa, the Knights of the Vale are here for you. The Northern Army is loyal to you. I know they're unhappy that I bent the knee and the only reason they've stayed is because of you. I can't leave you here with average fighters. They won't have it. And Sansa, what if…" He trailed off, clearly troubled.

She knew what he left unsaid. "Jon, if all the armies of the Dragon Queen and half the North can't defeat the dead, then even the best half of the Northern Army won't be able to hold them back. And Cersei Lannister," she smiled without mirth, "she'll die here either way."

Jon frowned but was silent for a moment. "I reckon you're right about the armies." He nodded. "Alright, we'll gather the lords together and let them know of our plans."

He stopped speaking and turned around as someone approached. He looked at Sansa and then called out, "Clegane, come here for a moment. Although I believe you've already met, this is my sister Sansa, Lady of Winterfell."

Sansa turned around and there was Sandor Clegane, approaching them at Jon's beckoning. His eyes never wavered from her face. She could feel herself blushing and her heartbeat quickening but she met his gaze steadily.

Jon doesn't seem to notice. He continued speaking to the Hound.

"I've been speaking with my sisters and it seems House Stark owes you a debt of gratitude. Not only did you help us in King's Landing, but you protected my sisters also. Sansa in King's Landing and Arya on the road."

The Hound snorted, "Save your gratitude. The little one was my hostage and the Lady was beaten and humiliated while I stood by and watched. I'm no buggering knight, doing good deeds for honor and justice."

At the mention of her treatment in King's Landing, Jon turned to her abruptly, as if to confirm the Hound's words.

Still not looking away, she replied, "You watched but did not participate. The only member of the Kingsguard that did not. You protected me when you could and tried to help me. As for Arya, when all our relatives were dead, you could have sold her to the Lannisters, perhaps earned back your place, or at the very least, gold for your trouble but you didn't. You continued watching over her even when there was nothing to gain from it. Even when it almost cost you your life. You are no knight, it's true, but House Stark owes you it's gratitude all the same. You have my gratitude, Ser."

Jon looked taken aback at her words and finally seemed to notice how both were staring at each other unflinchingly, neither caring to look at anything else.

The Hound's mouth twitched and he spoke softly. "Not a ser, Little Bird."

She gave him a small smile, her heart still hammering in her chest.

After a moment's silence, in which they both momentarily forgot Jon's presence, he cleared his throat awkwardly, finally pulling their eyes away from the other.

Jon was looking at her with a furrowed brow.

She said, "Jon, perhaps we could finish our conversation later? I would like to visit the Godswood." Without waiting for him to reply, she turned to the Hound, "Would you be so kind as to escort me, ser?"

He inclined his head. "As my Lady commands," he said with a touch of amusement. His mouth twitched in a smirk again and she smiled at him.

Jon, seemingly alarmed, said, "I could summon Brienne to escort you."

Sansa shook her head at her kin, "Arya is training with Brienne this morning. I don't wish to interrupt them." At his continued hesitation boldness seized her and she went to the Hound's side and took his arm. "I'll be fine Jon. We will meet later in the solar."

The Hound gave Jon a curt nod and they began walking. Sansa could feel Jon's eyes following them as they descended into the courtyard, until they were out of sight.

Now being alone with him, Sansa questioned her judgment. Perhaps it was too bold of her to request his presence and take his arm as she had. She couldn't help herself after he called her "Little Bird" and smiled at her. Well, as close to a smile as she'd ever seen.

Both were silent and she began to get nervous that perhaps he wished to be elsewhere. Suddenly he spoke, "You've changed."

She looked up at him but he said it without judgment, as though he was merely stating a fact.

"So have you", she replied.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement and she continued, "In King's Landing, it was never your scars that frightened me. It was the rage in your eyes."

He glanced down at her but did not speak. She continued. "I once prayed to the Mother that she might gentle the rage in you. It would seem that prayer was answered. If one believed in the gods, that is. You aren't as you once were, Ser."

He rasped softly, "How many times must I tell you, not a ser, Little Bird."

The corners of her mouth turned almost imperceptibly up, "Perhaps I just like to hear you call me 'Little Bird'."

He looked taken aback by her open flirtation.

She sighed, "Then what would you have me call you?"

"Dog. Or Hound." At her furrowed brow, he said, "Sandor is my given name. Or Clegane, if you wish."

She smiled at him, "Well Sandor, tell me, how have I changed?"

He looked down at her for a moment. "Before, you could never look me in the face. Now you look at little else."

She sighed, "I've seen monsters. Felt what they can do. Been at their mercy for longer than I care to remember. You were never a monster to me but your rage frightened me even as you protected me. As I said, you're different. And I'm no longer afraid."

They walked in silence again.

Once they approached the Heart Tree, Sansa sat underneath the carven face.

"Arya told me that she had a list and you were on it," she said conversationally.

He inclined his head. "Aye. Rightfully so. Many times the little wolf would've killed me if she could've. Nearly got me killed on several occasions. Ended up leaving me for dead."

His voice was harsh but his mouth twitched in what she took for amusement. "Still on that list, am I? I heard the girl's a right little killer now. Should I be worried?"

Sansa gave him a small smile and shook her head. "No. She took you off of it. Fortunately for you." His mouth twitched again. "Arya also told me that you nearly fought Ser Harrold."

Arya told her what she had seen on the training grounds. Harry was a pompous, entitled knight that clearly thought he could charm her with his looks. He thought wrong. When she'd brushed him off, to save face, he had insulted her honor. She had been surprised to learn that it was Podrick Payne and Sandor that had defended her.

Sandor scowled, "Aye. Buggering prick talks too much."

He didn't elaborate and she didn't press the issue. There were other questions on her mind.

"Where have you been all these years Sandor? I know some from Arya and Jon but not all." She didn't mean to ask so candidly, but the question had escaped before she could stop it.

His eyes fixed on her face, "What do you know, Little Bird?"

"I've heard that after you left King's Landing you were captured by the Brotherhood but then released. You took Arya and tried to sell her back to our family but they were all dead. That's when you ran into Brienne and she wanted to take Arya. You fought and lost." She paused here and considered him carefully. He was silent, still staring at her. "Everyone thought you dead until Jon showed up at Eastwatch by the Sea and there you were, with the Brotherhood. You went with Jon beyond the Wall and then back to King's Landing and then here." She trailed off uncertainly. Her question about why he came to Winterfell unasked.

After a moment's silence he nodded. "Aye. That's all true. After your sister left me for dead, a septon saved me. He took me in and helped me until I was able to walk again. I was helping him and the villagers build a sept." His face darkened and he scowled. "Deserters from the Brotherhood murdered them all. I crossed paths with the Brotherhood again and we executed them and went North." He looked conflicted for a moment then continued. "I saw a vision in the fire. The dead crossing a mountain just North of the Wall. Bloody Beric Dondarrion had it in his head that that's where we needed to be but the Wildlings at Eastwatch thought differently. They threw us in a freezing bloody cell until your brother arrived. We all went North of the Wall."

Sansa sat up at this. Jon had only briefly told them what happened North of the Wall. She asked eagerly, "What happened? What did you see?"

He surveyed her face as though trying to discern what to tell her. "The White Walkers. The dead. A hundred thousand of them. The Night King brought down a fully grown dragon with a single spear. Without the Dragon Queen we would've all perished out there. From there we went to King's Landing to treat with Cersei." He scoffed. "She agreed to an alliance."

She raised her eyebrows. She was curious that he would sense what the others had missed in Cersei. "You don't trust her?"

He scowled, "You do? Don't be a fool Little Bird. I worked for the Lannisters most of my life and Cersei most of all. She would rather the Night King on the throne than the Dragon Queen. She'll never help us."

Sansa's eyebrows raised imperceptibly at his use of the word "us".

She hesitated before asking her next question. "How did you end up at Winterfell?"

He was silent for a moment then to her great surprise he kneeled before her in the snow, staring at her intently. He looked conflicted then began speaking slowly. "Little Bird, I…".

Suddenly his brow furrowed and he stood quickly.

Before she could protest she heard someone approaching. It was Bran and Maester Wolkan.

"Sansa." said Bran. "Arya told us you were here and to come at another time but my visions are strongest near the Heart Tree and I will need clear eyes before we meet with Daenarys. She'll be calling for us soon." He gave Sansa a knowing look and then turned to Sandor. "The Hound." At this he paused. "No. Not the Hound anymore. Sandor Clegane. You thought you could put away the sword and find a measure of peace. But you lived by the sword and when you tried to put it behind you, the sword found you. Fortunate for us." He looked at them carefully. "Sansa, did you know hounds are the most loyal of all animals? They would give their life without question for what they love."

Sansa looked from Bran to Sandor curiously. Sandor stared at Bran intently but said nothing.

She nodded, "We shall leave you to it then. Ser?" she placed herself at Sandor's side so they could return to the castle.

Neither spoke. Sansa was nervous. Was he angry now? Bran had spoken so frankly. She tried to indiscreetly look at his face but was too anxious.

As they approached the courtyard, Arya was grinning at her from the rampart, with Brienne guarding her back, looking on disapprovingly.

Sansa spoke tremulously, "Thank you, Sandor."

He only inclined his head.

Before they could part ways, she spoke again, "Sandor, perhaps you would be so kind as to escort me to the Godswood tomorrow as well?"

His mouth twitched and he said with a hint of amusement, "As my Lady commands."


	6. Sandor

"I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village under my father's keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvelous toys. I don't remember what I got, but it was Gregor's gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who's been burned knows what hell is truly like."...

The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape shrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away.

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid one more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. "He was no true knight," she whispered to him.

The Hound threw back his head and roared. Sansa stumbled back, away from him, but he caught her arm. "No," he growled at her, "no, little bird, he was no true knight."

Excerpt from A Game of Thrones

...  
...  
...

Sandor continued to walk Sansa to the Godswood daily. It surprised him every day that she continued to ask him to be her escort.

And gods be damned, each day she seemed more at ease in his presence.

That first day, she had taken his arm boldly but uncertainly, but each day she took his arm more easily. She also touched him more with each passing day. A gentle hand on his shoulder as she recalled a childhood memory, a graze of his hand as she appreciated the beauty of the winter, a slight caress of his cheek as she playfully patted snow out of his beard.

And the way she looked at him. No woman had ever looked at him like that before. She didn't shy away from his hideous face. On the contrary, she would look directly into his face and smile. A genuine smile, without fear or disgust.

Bloody hell, that first day he'd walked with her he had come close to baring his soul when he knelt before her in the snow. Even he wasn't sure what he was going to say. That he wanted only to serve her, that he'd only ever wanted to serve her, protect her, he should have done a better job of it when she was in King's Landing, that now, he wanted to serve her (and much more, but he could barely let himself think those thoughts since he was only a dog after all), and if the living fell to the dead he would fight to his last breath to protect her.

Thankfully, her crippled brother showed up to keep him from making a fool of himself. But the things he said. The little brat as good as told Sansa that he loved her.

But ever the lady, she spared him any blundering and embarrassment and asked him to continue to escort her.

People began to take notice and some of the shits in the training yard would look at him with envy. He smirked, Harry the Horses Arse especially.

But the Little Bird paid them no mind. Even her honorable brother had tried to interfere, but with all the grace of a highborn lady, she got her way. She was good at getting her way.

Sandor had been walking her to her old gods daily for some time when her brother, Jon, summoned him.

He wasn't surprised.

Sansa was highly sought after as a leader and a mediator and a Lady and he was baseborn. Her brother would want to remind him of that. Not that he needed any reminding.

The soldier at the door of Jon Snow's solar announced him.

Jon Snow was grave, as usual. "Sandor Clegane. Have a seat." He gestured across from him for Sandor to sit. "I know you're not one for mere pleasantries so I'll get to the point. Word has reached us that Cersei Lannister has set sail from King's Landing and is heading to White Harbor with an army of seven thousand men. Your brother leads that army. Unfortunately, it will take them time to get here and when they do, the majority of our armies will be gone to fight the dead. I've spoken to Sansa already and the Glovers, Karstarks, and two thousand knights from the Vale will remain."

Sandor scowled but Jon put his hand up to silence him before he could speak.

"I know. Trust me, I know. That's little more than half of what Cersei is marching here with. Ultimately it was Sansa's decision who stayed," he stared at Sandor meaningfully, "and she's asked that you stay."

He made an effort not to grin. "I'll do as the Lady commands." As though he would have marched North and left her to face his brother.

Jon Snow nodded once then stared into the fire for a moment.

"We've made many plans for this war but we're set upon from the North and the South. So many plans but…" he trailed off and sighed heavily. "You know, I've heard stories of The Mountain that Rides. Larger even than you and cruel. And now a mindless servant of Cersei Lannister, thanks to her Hand. Should Winterfell fall to the Lannisters, however unlikely that may be, my sister would be at the mercy of that monster, to Cersei's pleasure."

Sandor growled, "Leave my brother to me."

The bastard gave him a long look and nodded. He hesitated before speaking again. "Clegane, are you in love with Sansa?"

The bastard was bold, Sandor had to give him that.

He scowled with disdain, "Been listening to gossip, my Lord?"

Rather than becoming angry, Jon gave him a small smile. "Has there been gossip about you two? No, I ask because I'm not blind. I see the way you look at her when you walk together. And the way she talks about you…" He trailed off again looking thoughtful. "My sister is very beautiful. The Lady of Winterfell no less. Should we defeat the dead, many high lords will be vying for her affection. Many already are. Some have even approached me."

Sandor scoffed, "I don't give a shit about her claim but don't worry yourself, my Lord." He stood, angry that her noble brother should think he needed reminding. "I'm a dog. Lucky for you, a loyal one. I know my place."

He made to leave but Snow stopped him, "Clegane, I meant no offense. When Sansa was a girl she would have like nothing better than these high lords entreating for her hand, but she's not the same girl she was when we left Winterfell. She has no desire to marry any of these lords. She's told me as much. But you…" He trailed off and looked at Sandor thoughtfully. "She speaks very highly of you. And I know you don't care for her claim. You're probably the only man here that doesn't. I'm grateful for that and I know Sansa is too." He paused waiting for Sandor to speak. When he didn't, Jon sighed, "That's all. You may go."

Sandor got up to leave but stopped when he reached the door. "You need not worry about my brother. Or Sansa. No one will hurt her again or I'll kill them."

Jon nodded solemnly, "I know."

As Sandor walked down to the training yard, he considered everything the bastard had told him. Sansa spoke highly of him. She'd asked that he stay, rather than march North with the armies. She didn't want to marry any of these high lords. He didn't stop to let himself think what that might mean.

Besides that, his brother was on the way to Winterfell along with the Lannister Army. He knew with Cersei Lannister at the head, it would go very badly for them if they lost. Jon Snow was right, it would go very badly for Sansa most of all.

He scowled. He would kill Gregor Clegane if it was the last thing he did.


	7. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Sansa chapter. No Sandor this chapter but it'll get good next chapter. Again, just a warning, Dany is not depicted well here or in this fanfic at all. Hope you enjoy!

To Sansa and Arya's surprise, it was some time before the Dragon Queen requested to meet with the Starks again.

Arya had been watching and she knew that Varys had been told. What they didn't know was why it took so long for the Spider to inform his queen. Inevitably, he did inform her.

They waited in the solar: Sansa, Jon, Arya, and Bran. The Dragon Queen had demanded a private meeting so Ser Davos, Brienne, and Samwell were not in attendance.

When the Dragon Queen arrived she had only Tyrion, looking uncharacteristically serious, the translator they called Missandei, her Unsullied commander, and Lord Varys.

Jon got up to greet her but she only looked at him coldly. He sat back down looking concerned.

She took a seat at the head of table then turned to Tyrion and nodded.

Tyrion cleared his throat, "We've received word of a disturbing rumor. That you," he gestured to Jon, "Jon Snow, bastard of Ned Stark, are actually the legitimate heir of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

Jon froze in his seat and said nothing.

Tyrion continued, "Such a farfetched rumor required investigation, of course. Such a rumor could have been planted by my sister, designed to break alliances by fighting amongst ourselves. Unfortunately, we discovered the existence of a maester's scroll, detailing the marriage between Rhaegar and Lyanna, and we received word that Bran Stark is the source of these rumors. After all, just because the two got married, that doesn't mean Jon Snow is their child."

At his pause, the Dragon Queen broke her silence. "A ploy to put a Stark on the throne after I've saved it with my armies and my dragons."

"No," Bran answered. "Not a ploy. I'm the Three Eyed Raven, I don't care who sits on the Iron Throne. I only care that the dead are defeated. But Jon Snow is Aegon Targaryen. Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell was annulled and he married my aunt, Lyanna, because he loved her and she loved him. My father, Ned Stark, came upon her at the Tower of Joy, while Robert Baratheon was leaving Rhaegar dead in the Trident. She died in childbirth and made my father promise to never tell. A promise he kept to his death. If you require more proof, Samwell Tarly has the maester's scroll and send word to Howland Reed. He was there when my father brought the newborn Aegon down from the Tower of Joy. He knows of Jon Snow's true parentage."

She scoffed, "The Tarly boy despises me for killing his traitor father and brother. He could easily have fabricated such a scroll. As for Lord Reed, I hear he was Ned Stark's best friend and staunchest supporter. His word means nothing."

Bran replied, "You fear the truth for what it would mean. Since you wed Khal Drogo and killed your brother you have believed you were born to rule the Seven Kingdoms as the last Targaryen. But you are not the last Targaryen, nor are you the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Rhaegar Targaryen was the Mad King's first born and would have inherited the throne. At his death, his living first born would then inherit the throne. That is Aegon." He gestured to Jon. "Aegon was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms and he will. Should you refuse to bend the knee to the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, should you continue to declare yourself queen, would be to deny the true lineage of heirs, which would make you a usurper and in open rebellion. Is this not what you told Jon when you believed yourself to be the rightful heir?"

The Dragon Queen's eyes blazed. Her already pale complexion went white, except for two spots of red, high on her cheeks.

Before she could speak, Sansa commented. "You believe we lie to place a Stark on the throne. That's understandable. All the proof we have comes from Stark supporters. But there have always been rumors of the truth. Littlefinger, for example, knew that my aunt Lyanna had not been kidnapped but had willingly gone with your brother. There were rumors of Jon's true parentage as well. I'm sure Lord Varys has heard these rumors. Tell us Lord Varys, what do you know of this?"

Varys looked from Sansa to Bran to his Queen.

"Speak freely, Lord Varys, please." Sansa said.

He sighed, "My Lady, rumors abound where high lords are concerned." Everyone was silent, waiting for him to continue. He slouched, defeated. "Yes, there were always rumors. Rumors that Rhaegar and Lyanna were in love and ran away together. Rumors that Elia Martell had been cast aside. Rumors of a babe. No one who knew Ned Stark believed that he had forsaken his marriage vows or his new wife and taken a mistress. Or that he would bring a bastard home to his new wife. But people love a scandal where high lords are concerned and Ned Stark himself perpetuated these rumors." He shrugged, "I myself never believed them."

The Dragon Queen was seething. "Are you telling me, Lord Varys, that you believe that Jon Snow is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms?"

He opened his mouth worriedly, "My Queen-"

Bran cut him off before he could continue. "There is another way."

Varys closed his eyes in relief as everyone turned to Bran.

"The dragons." He said. "Only a true Targaryen can commune with the dragons. Missandei," he turned to the pretty translator, "the dragons trust you. You can feed them and even ride them in your Queen's presence but what if you say 'dracarys'?"

The girl's eyebrows furrowed, "Nothing, my Lord. They only obey that command when give by the Queen."

Bran inclined his head. "Yes, only a true Targaryen can command a dragon. Summon Drogon. Jon, you will command him to breathe dragonfire. If the dragon obeys, you are truly a Targaryen."

Up to this point, Jon had only sat in silence. At this, he finally spoke up. "No." He spoke with finality, looking stern. "I asked that we keep this between us," he said, looking at his cousins. "I told you I don't want the throne. I don't want to play these games of thrones. I only want to save my people and live among the living. Why does it matter who sits on the throne? This Targaryen or that one? Ned Stark was my father. I am a Stark."

The room was silent. Tyrion and Varys looked at Jon with admiration. Their queen looked both pleased and perturbed. Sansa thought it was likely because she recognized that Jon would make a better ruler than her.

Sansa spoke up. "Jon, you are Ned Stark's son but you're also Rhaegar Targaryen's son and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms." She could see the Dragon Queen fuming in the corner of her eye, but she continued. "Jon, you don't serve yourself. You serve the people and that's what this realm needs after rulers like the Mad King, Joffrey Baratheon, and Cersei Lannister. It matters because the realm needs a King like you. I mean you no offense," she said, looking at the Dragon Queen. "But if Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and my aunt Lyanna then he IS the rightful ruler of Westeros. The Iron Throne belongs to him."

Tyrion gave her a meaningful look. "If?" he questioned.

She replied, "Jon has always been my brother. He has always been Ned Stark's son. It's difficult to see him as anything else. Are you asking if I believe whether the rumors are true? I do. All the evidence, whether you believe it or not, points to his true lineage."

Arya spoke up. "Daenerys Targaryen, if you truly serve the realm and not yourself, summon the dragon and let my brother prove who he is. But you already know the truth. The question you must ask yourself now is, do you serve the realm? Or do you serve yourself? If you serve the realm, you will gladly accede the throne to Jon if he is who we claim. If you serve yourself, you will demand the Iron Throne, which you know is no longer yours by right, which is what your claim has rested on for all this time."

At this the Dragon Queen leapt out of her seat, enraged. "I will not have my authority questioned. I will not have my rule questioned. Jon Snow, I will summon Drogon. If you can command my dragon, I will consider what that may mean. If you can't, I will have no more of these rumors. And if he eats you in the attempt, then you know you were only a Stark all along."

...

Daenerys Targaryen demanded that the Stark siblings remain in the solar. Sansa could see that it was Bran she didn't trust.

Sansa wasn't worried for Jon. He could take care of himself well enough. He would not still be alive if he couldn't. Besides, they had Bran to watch all. He told them when Jon had successfully commanded the dragon.

It wasn't long before Jon returned. At their questioning looks he said that the Dragon Queen and her counsel were speaking amongst themselves and would rejoin them momentarily. He looked utterly defeated.

It was quite some time before the Dragon Queen and her entourage returned.

She refused to meet Jon's eyes. Instead she glanced around the room and spoke almost as soon as Varys closed the door behind him.

"I have considered what was discussed and I think it wise to make arrangements." Sansa thought it odd that Tyrion was not doing the talking. When it came to plans, Tyrion was usually the one to propose them. The Dragon Queen continued, "Once the dead and the Lannister's have been defeated, I will allow Jon Snow to remain here in Winterfell as King in the North, nothing will be revealed of his lineage, and I will rule the rest of Westeros as it's Queen. If anyone questions why the North was allowed to remain an independent kingdom after yielding, we shall say it's because he helped gain victory in the great war."

No one spoke, it was clear she was not finished.

"To ensure lasting peace between the North and Westeros, the marriage between Tyrion and the Lady of Winterfell shall be renewed."

Sansa looked sharply at Tyrion but he refused to meet her gaze.

"As Hand, Tyrion will be needed in King's Landing, but the Lady shall be allowed to remain on Casterly Ro-"

"No." Sansa spoke calmly and clearly. "I mean no offense, my Lord," she said to Tyrion and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "You have only ever been kind, but I will not leave my home to become a hostage again."

The Dragon Queen's face was unreadable. "You will not be a hostage. You will be my Lord Hand's wife. A position of honor."

"Then honor someone else. You would have me there to keep the North in line. To ensure the truth doesn't get out. A hostage." Sansa replied steadily.

There was complete silence while the two women openly glared at one another.

Finally, the Dragon Queen said in an authoritative voice, "Tyrion will do as his Queen commands. Am I to understand that you refuse to do as your Queen commands?"

Sansa stood slowly, "But you're not my Queen. Nor are you the rightful ruler of Westeros. I was already forced into two marriages. I will not be forced into a third."

The Dragon's Queen's eyes blazed. "It's my understanding that you willingly wed the Bastard of Bolton. Or am I mistaken?"

Sansa wanted to lash out but the reasonable part of her knew that would be unwise. With only a few words she could break their tentative alliance and doom them all to the dead. Instead she replied, "I did what I had to do to get home. Not all of us are here because we had dragons at our sides and armies at our backs."

This time it was Varys that spoke up. "Your Grace, perhaps a different bride is in order. There are many Northern houses and many suitable ladies among them. Alys Karstark, perhaps? She now rules House Karstark. A suitable bride, I think."

As Lord Varys spoke, Sansa finally noticed the tension in the room. The Unsullied commander was standing erect, behind his queen with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Arya was sitting casually next to Sansa, with her dagger drawn underneath the table. Jon was staring at the Dragon Queen, while she was refusing to meet his gaze. Tyrion was still sitting in grim silence and Bran was staring into the fire.

The Dragon Queen replied, "House Karstark fought with House Bolton. Their Lady does not inspire any loyalty among the Northerners."

Varys tried again, "Lady Mormont perhaps?" Sansa knew that would never happen and caught Arya's look of barely concealed disbelief. Neither said as much and Varys continued. "Yes, she's still a child but she'll be of acceptable marrying age soon enough. And she's greatly esteemed and respected among the Northern lords."

Finally Tyrion spoke up. "Perhaps we could discuss my future bride another time. A pitcher of the finest Arbor Gold is awaiting me in my chambers and I'm quite thirsty."

The irritation was obvious in his voice. The silver haired queen gave him a disapproving glance but nodded. Arya quickly sheathed her dagger beneath the table so no one would notice but Jon didn't move. As the group made to exit, Jon called, "Your Grace, a word?"

At that, the Dragon Queen had no choice but to meet his eyes.

Sansa had no desire to witness their exchange so she pushed Bran out with Arya following close behind.

"Shall I kill her now?" Arya asked.

Sansa replied, "Yes. Yes, I think we should consider it."


	8. Sandor

Sandor laid in bed mulling over the occurrences of the day. It was nearly the hour of the wolf but he had much to consider.

That morning a light snow was falling in Winterfell as he walked to the rampart. He had tried to walk at a normal pace but, gods be damned, he wanted to see the Little Bird and his steps were hurried. He turned on to the parapet, expecting to see Sansa, but stopped short.

Arya Stark was standing where her sister usually stood, facing away from him.

She didn't move when she spoke. "Well don't be shy, Hound. Come closer. I wanted to speak to you before Sansa arrives. She'll be along shortly."

He approached her slowly. "Lady Stark," he replied mockingly.

She humphed. "My siblings tell me we're indebted to you. I told them I was your hostage. Jon wasn't pleased." She turned to him then. "Sansa convinced him that your good deeds outweigh your bad ones."

He scowled. "And how does House Stark plan on repaying that debt?"

She was silent as she stared at him. "You're still as ugly as I remember." He gave a bark of bitter laughter. "You're in love with Sansa." It was not a question.

He glowered at her, "The Lady of Winterfell can have any man in the Seven Kingdoms and I'm just a dog. I know my place."

She only continued staring at him, unafraid. "You're right about that first bit. But for her sake, I hope you're wrong about the last. I've seen the way you two dotingly gaze at each other when you think no one's watching. You look at her like she's a woman and not Lady Stark, heiress to Winterfell. And the way she looks at you... She doesn't look at you like you're the Hound. She looks at you like you're Sandor Clegane. A man and not a monster, not a killer, but she knows you're no knight either. She no longer has an empty head filled with songs. Pity it took such suffering." She started to walk away but spoke over her shoulder, "She wants you to fuck her, you know. Make sure you do it properly."

He stared after her stunned as she walked away.

That was the first time he had spoke to the wolf girl since she left him to die. Just as there were rumors about the Queen of Ice, there were rumors about her sister. Rumors that she had sailed across the sea and trained to fight and kill and lie and tell a lie.

Sandor had kept that in mind as she questioned him. Though he wouldn't have lied. He despised liars.

But just as she'd said, Sansa showed up shortly after the little wolf had left him speechless.

She was in a contemplative mood and spoke little, though she took his arm as she normally did. He became worried that perhaps her sister said something to her. Seven Hells, if the little Stark told Sansa anything like what she had told him, the Little Bird was probably quite distressed. He watched her closely as they walked to the tall trees of the Northern Gods, but she did not appear uneasy. Only thoughtful.

Finally he asked, "You aren't chirping your usual courtesies today, Little Bird. What has you so preoccupied before your Old Gods?"

They stopped at the heart tree and Sansa sat at her usual spot, beneath the carven face. Sandor remained standing. She was silent for a while. Small snowflakes fell lazily into her hair and cloak. He resisted the urge to brush them away.

"What do you think of the Dragon Queen?" She finally asked.

He scowled, "Anyone that can walk through fire and not burn can't be trusted. I've heard tell what she does to her enemies, crucifies them, has her men slaughter them, or her dragons burn them alive. She has a touch of her father's madness."

Sansa stared at him thoughtfully as though considering her next words. "You once told me of the loyalty of hounds. You said that a hound would die for you but never lie to you. Tell me Sandor, where do your loyalties lie?"

He growled low, "You know where, Little Bird."

She smiled at him in what he could only describe as fondness.

"Jon is not my half brother. He's my cousin. His mother was my father's sister, Lyanna. His father was Rhaegar Targaryen. They were married in secret. He's the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, as it were. The Dragon Queen found out. You can imagine her response, accused us of lying to put a Stark on the throne. She was convinced after some time. She said she would allow Jon to reclaim his title as King in the North and she would rule the remainder of Westeros. She said that in order to ensure peace between the kingdoms, my marriage to Tyrion would be restored and I would be sent to Casterly Rock. I refused."

As he listened, Sandor tried to contain his many emotions: surprise, anger, dread, fury, and relief.

Sansa continued. "Jon spoke with her alone after we left. He says if we do not agree to give her the Iron Throne and keep his lineage a secret, she will take her dragons and armies back to Essos and abandon us to the dead and the Lannisters. He had no choice but to agree. She still wants me to marry Tyrion. Jon tried to convince her otherwise but unless a suitable alternative is presented to her, he fears she won't change her mind. I told him I would not marry Tyrion." She sighed. "It was unwise. This alliance will mean the difference between victory and defeat during the long night."

He kneeled in front of her. "Fuck the Dragon Queen. Fuck the Imp. Fuck the dead. You are Lady Stark. You belong here in Winterfell."

She smiled at him tentatively, then reached up and caressed the carven face of the heart tree.

"You are right." There was silence between them for a moment.

Sansa continued, "House Stark is eight thousand years old. How many Starks have been where we are now, Sandor? How many have sat where we sit? How many have endured the long night? House Stark will endure."

She spoke with such conviction, pride and grace ever present in her bearing. He had never seen her look more lovely.

This time he didn't resist the urge when he leaned towards her and gently brushed snow out of her hair.

He rasped in a low voice, "You're so fucking beautiful."

She met his gaze and her eyes darkened. She reached out and caressed his face.

"Sandor," she whispered before leaning forward and kissing him full on the mouth.

Surprised as he was, he responded without thinking. Her lips were so soft and sweet. He deepened the kiss and his hands were in her hair and caressing her back and up and down her sides. His tongue brushed her lips to gain entrance, which she readily provided.

His hands moved of their own accord along her body and brushed the underside of her breast and she whimpered, arching her back against him. He pulled her body flush to his, cursing his thick leather jerkin that came between them.

It suddenly occurred to him that her sister was right. Sansa wanted him. But like the little wolf said, he would do it properly. The Little Bird deserved more than a quick tumble in the snow.

Sandor pulled back slowly. They were both breathing heavily. Sansa was blushing prettily and looking at him shyly.

He stood slowly, loathe to part from her lips, and reached out to her. "Come along, Little Bird. Your sister is probably tormenting the poor blacksmith boy again. You're likely needed."

She took his hand and stood, a small smile on her flushed face.

Now Sandor laid in his bed. He was hard just thinking about her soft lips, the way she had pressed against him, and whimpered in pleasure.

The little killer was right. The way Sansa looked at him, no woman had ever looked at him that way before. Beauty that she was, she looked at him the way a woman looks at a man. Not the way all the others looked at him, like a monster because of his scars and fell deeds.

But she was Lady Stark. She would not be allowed to do as she wished. Family, duty, honor. The Tully house words. And the fucking Starks were known for their honor. Her damned father had lost his head for it. Sansa was bound to do her duty and her duty was to marry a high lord and bear his children.

He snorted, his desire now gone. And the Dragon bitch wanted to send her off to the fucking Imp again. The way he heard it, the silver-haired bitch was used to having her way. And Sansa's brother (no, cousin) would likely be convinced to agree to it.

The Little Bird was a Stark and Tully. In the end, she would yield. Do her duty.

There was a light knock on the door. He scowled. Probably the Vale knight, Brune, wanting for some wine. He knew Sandor kept some of the good Arbor Gold, courtesy of House Stark, in his chambers.

Sandor got up. "Get your own damned wine, Brune." He called out.

He yanked open the door but stopped short in surprise.

Sansa stood at his door in a dark cloak, the hood up covering her hair and most of her face. She looked nervous.

He just stood there dumbly.

She asked anxiously, "May I come in, Sandor?"

He stepped aside so she could enter. He half expected Brienne to follow her inside his chambers but the Lady was alone. He closed the door behind her.


	9. Sansa

Sansa hurriedly walked the darkened corridors of Winterfell, concealed by her cloak. She had made up her mind on how to proceed but she was terribly nervous.

Earlier that morning she had told Sandor everything that weighed on her mind and kissed him beneath the Heart Tree. She didn't know what boldness had seized her but she was glad it had. Though they walked together daily, neither were too forward in their attentions.

She wondered if it would be considered courting. Many handsome knights and lords had kind and flattering words for her but she wanted no part of them. Knights beat her and lords were only loyal so long as they were kept happy.

But Sandor. Sandor had no flattering words for her. She knew flattery was not in his nature and she valued his honesty. She never had to question his words or worry he lied to conceal some hidden agenda.

When he called her beautiful beneath the Heart Tree, she felt the truth in his words by the look in his grey eyes and the soft rasp of his voice. It wasn't meant to be flattery. He said it as though he was calling winter cold. He was merely stating a truth. And she had never felt so beautiful. Not as the beautiful daughter of Ned Stark or the Queen of Ice, as she knew they called her, but just as a woman.

And so she had kissed him. She didn't know what to expect, for the burned side of his mouth to be rough and calloused, for the kiss to be chaste. She had even thought he might be angry with her. To her delight, none of what she thought was true.

His mouth was smooth, she felt no difference between the burned and unburned sides of his lips. While the kiss had begun chaste, it quickly intensified and his strong hands roamed over her body, inciting feelings in her that no man ever had. And he had not been angry with her. After he pulled away from her, his eyes were dark with desire and the burned side of his mouth twitched in what she knew to be his version of a smile.

She had been kissed before, Littlefinger, Joffrey, but it didn't compare to kissing Sandor. She didn't think it was even fair to put it in the same category as what she'd experienced with Sandor today. She wondered if other things would feel differently with Sandor as well.

Arya had found her soon after Sansa and Sandor had parted ways. Sandor had the right of it after all, Arya had been with the blacksmith boy Gendry, bastard of Robert Baratheon. Sansa thought it was a good match but she knew better than to tell Arya that.

They walked along the wall discussing their future. Arya wanted to kill the Dragon Queen and wear her face for the war against the dead to keep the Unsullied and Dothraki in line. However, they both had their reservations about how well the ruse would work on her dragons.

As they discussed it, Arya stopped walking and a small smile stole on her face. Sansa stopped to see what distracted her sister. They faced the main courtyard where the men practiced. They were at such a distance that the men in the courtyard likely would not notice them, but they had a clear view.

Sandor was in the middle of the courtyard sparring against three men at once and he was glorious. It was still snowing lightly and the small flakes drifted around him as if in slow motion. The men slashed and lunged, sloppily, they were clearly exhausted, but Sandor was too fast and too strong. He blocked them easily, his heavily muscled arms straining with exertion. Sweat dripping down his dark brow. The three men were experienced soldiers, but they didn't stand a chance.

Seeming to rally, all three attacked at the same time. Sandor blocked the blows of the first two and ducked from the third. While his sword was occupied he kicked one of the men flat on his back. Another he knocked in the face with the hilt of his sword. The third was the only one left on his feet. Sandor attacked. He moved swiftly and came down with all his strength. The third tried to block but his dull steel sword snapped in two. He dropped what remained of his sword in surprise and lifted his hands in defeat. Sandor held his sword to the man's neck, then dropped it and turned around.

Sansa realized her heart was beating faster than usual and she felt inexplicably warm.

"He's quite good. Stronger and faster than he was when I was with him." At Sansa's questioning look, she continued. "On our travels we were always wanting for food and shelter. The lack of made him weak when we crossed paths with Brienne. Had he been well fed and well rested, as he is now, their fight would likely have gone differently."

After a moment's silence she continued, "You'll take him into your bed now."

It wasn't a question. Sansa looked at her sister. There was no judgment in Arya's eyes.

Sansa met her gaze steadily as she said, "Yes."

Arya had smirked at her then. "Good luck."

They had laughed at that.

Despite her trepidation, Sansa grinned as she walked to Sandor's chambers. True, she was anxious, but she was also giddy with anticipation.

She arrived at his door and took a deep breath then raised her hand and knocked.


	10. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a hint of lemon this chapter. Writing a full lemon between SanSan is just too daunting a task. But if you want to enjoy some fantastic SanSan lemonade, I recommend The Queen of Ice on fanfiction.net (might be here too).

Sandor awoke to urgent knocking and two voices in heated conversation right outside the door.

He opened his eyes and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Sansa was only just stirring next to him, naked as her nameday. He could smell the faintest trace of lemon from her hair as she brushed it out of her eyes.

Suddenly, she sat up quickly and turned to him, eyes wide.

It occurred to him that perhaps she regretted taking him into her bed but those fears were quickly put to rest when she smiled widely at him, jumped up, and grabbed her night shift.

"Oh dear," she said, yawning. "That'll be Arya and Brienne. Sandor, could you please open the door?"

He groaned. Damn them for interrupting a perfect morning. "As my Lady commands," he said lazily.

He only vaguely remembered getting up in the middle of the night. The Lady couldn't spend the night in another's chambers but she asked him to stay with her. She would be sought after in the morning and if she wasn't in her chambers, too many questions would be asked. Once they were in her room, she insisted he bar the door because her sister had a habit of walking in unannounced.

Sandor stopped right before the door. The voices were still going on right outside, the knocking still persistent. He couldn't understand what they were saying but he could tell that it was Arya and Brienne.

He opened the door and stepped aside, nothing but a thin sheet to cover his nakedness.

Arya looked at the aghast Brienne, amused. "I told you she was fine." Then she sauntered right in.

Brienne only spluttered but walked in, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Sansa sat at her vanity, brushing her hair until she noticed Brienne's hand.

She turned around, "Brienne," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "that won't be necessary. Sandor is here at my invitation."

"Told you," Arya said under her breath.

Sandor walked back to the bed and began dressing. Brienne quickly turned around, as though to preserve his modesty, but her hand had dropped from her sword.

"My Lady," she started, in a voice that was meant to be stern but sounded only pleading, "you wouldn't… you couldn't… you didn't know what you were doing-"

He couldn't help but growl, "she knew well enough."

To his pleasure, her face reddened and she spluttered.

Sansa sighed but looked pleased, "Sandor, that's quite enough. Brienne can escort us to our meeting with Jon and Bran." She stood up and walked over to him. "Brienne, I know you don't approve but I'm not asking for your approval. Or anyone else's. Sandor is here because I want him here. Because he was the only one that even tried to protect me in King's Landing. Because he is loyal and he always will be. Because he wants me for me and not for my claim. Because he promised he would protect me and he hates liars. And because I trust him with my life."

Now she stood in front of him and he couldn't help but pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly, the others forgotten.

After a moment, the little wolf humphed loudly. "Save that for the privacy of your bedchambers."

Sansa pulled away and rolled her eyes in a very unladylike fashion, "We are in the privacy of my bedchambers."

Arya only waved away her comment.

Sandor stood and walked to the door. Sansa followed and said quietly, "will you come again tonight?"

He grinned, "as my Lady commands."

He left, stopped in the kitchens for a quick breakfast, and then headed to his chambers, grinning the whole way.

...

Sandor tried to sleep once he got back to his room but, gods be damned, he couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened the night before.

The Little Bird had been nervous when she showed up at his door, that much was certain, but she had also been determined. He could see it in her face by the set in her jaw and the lust in her eyes.

He smiled as much as his burned face would allow. Who would've thought the beauty would want the beast? And she made it clear that she wanted him.

He was nearly angry with her when he had realized she was alone. It wasn't safe for her, highborn beauty that she was.

"Sansa, it's not safe for you, alone at this hour. You're at the mercy of anyone that may want to harm you, the Dragon Bitch included."

She raised her chin resolutely, "I want to be here. I'm not afraid, Sandor." Her meaning was clear.

He took several long strides towards her. His voice was a low rasp, steel on stone, "Here you're at my mercy, My Lady. I could do with you as I wished with no one here to save you."

She took a step towards him, closing the distance between them, "I am the Lady of Winterfell and you are at my mercy. Perhaps I shall do with you as I wish."

His eyes were on her lips, "And what is it you wish to do with me, My Lady?"

"Many things, Sandor," she replied breathlessly, leaning into him.

Before their lips could meet, Sandor pulled back and turned around. When he spoke his voice was a low growl, dangerous and angry, "What the fuck are you doing here Sansa? You're a Stark. You're the Stark now. Your cousin will be king and Winterfell will be yours. It's only a matter of time before you're forced to marry Tyrion or some other high lord to secure and strengthen alliances."

"No." She said simply. The utter surety in her voice made him turn around to face her. "You're right Sandor, I am the Stark in Winterfell now. I will be no one's pawn to give and take as they wish so they may gain victory in this game of thrones. I will not marry Tyrion or any other lord. I will marry who I wish." She looked at him meaningfully, her eyes dark, "And if I wish to take a lover, I will."

There hadn't been much talking after that. He knew what she wanted and he longed to give it to her. She had stood before him and boldly removed her robe. Every inch of her was perfection, like the Maiden herself, even the scars she still carried from the incest cunt and the bastard. He had croaked out an "are you sure?" before touching her. He knew if he touched her naked form even once he would never want to stop. And she had smiled at him then, her face so full of trust and desire, and kissed him long and full.

There was no more questions after that.

A loud and determined knock at his door made him sit up and groan. Why couldn't these fuckers just let him be for a few damn hours?

Unless it was the Little Bird, of course. Maybe she was back for a quick tumble.

His grin at that thought was quickly replaced when he opened the door to a disapproving and uncomfortable looking Brienne of fucking Tarth.

He scowled when he realized Sansa was not with her. He could guess why she was here.

"May I come in, Clegane?" she asked.

He didn't answer, just opened the door wide so she could enter.

She walked in and stood at the hearth. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Almost grudgingly she began. "I realize it would be futile to recount all that Lady Sansa has been through. You were there for much of it." She hesitated. "While I don't approve, Lady Arya tells me that you love the Lady and that she loves you."

Sandor had to hide his surprise at the last.

Brienne continued, "It's clear to me that there is genuine affection between you and I do believe you are loyal to House Stark. Our armies will be leaving soon and me with them. I was told that you'll be staying to watch over the Lady with less than half of the Northern Army. And not the most talented half."

She looked at him resolutely. "I need something from you, Clegane. You see, I made a promise to Catelyn Stark that I would find and protect her daughters. Now I'm being sent away from the one that needs the most protecting. I need you to give me your word that once Cersei Lannister and your brother arrive with their armies, you will kill him. Gregor Clegane, I mean. You will kill him and you will do whatever it takes to keep Lady Sansa safe. You're the only one that can."

Part of Sandor wanted to lash out that she would doubt him but her expression was one of genuine concern. He nodded once.

Brienne seemed to breath a sigh of relief. She gave him a small smile. "She speaks very highly of you, you know. She said that if you gave your word, you would follow it through because you don't lie."

He sighed in return. "The Little Bird is kind and generous. She sees in me what she wants me to be. I'm a killer."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't we all? Clegane, what you must ask yourself is, what do you kill for? We serve the Starks because they have earned our loyalty, not because they demanded it. And now we will kill so that we can live."

He wanted to dismiss her with a scowl but, in truth, her words were comforting. He would never tell her that.

Instead, his mouth twitched, "Do you want to kiss me now? All this sweet talk, I don't think your lady would like it now that she's taken me into her bed."

The Maid of Tarth spluttered and her cheeks turned red, "I would never…"

He gave a short bark of laughter.

Looking stern she replied, "That's not funny, Clegane."

Brienne composed herself but made it quite clear she was ready to leave.

"I nearly forgot, I came to deliver news. Earlier, Tyrion Lannister informed the Starks that the Greyjoys have been defeated. We won't have to worry about them joining the Lannister Army at White Harbor."

He sobered up at this news. "How?"

"Apparently, Euron Greyjoy went to Essos with the Iron Bank's money. A plot with Cersei Lannister to recruit mercenaries, The Golden Company. What Cersei didn't know is that Queen Daenerys has the loyalty of the Second Sons, another mercenary army, and their commander. He was able to form an alliance with the Golden Company. Together they slaughtered the Greyjoys."

"Why not sail them here, if they're loyal?" he asked, hoping for more men.

Brienne shook her head, "Lord Tyrion said that this commander of the Second Sons didn't actually pay The Golden Company. Although, they did fight together to defeat the Greyjoys, they refused to sail here."

"Cunts." Sandor grumbled.


	11. Sansa

Sansa stood on the rampart above the training ground watching Sandor as he sparred with Ser Lothor Brune. The men were of similar size but Sandor was clearly stronger and more skilled.

Sparring was not the only thing Sandor was so very skilled at. The things he did to her in the bedchamber were pure bliss. And so new, not only to her, but she knew to him as well.

She would have him in her bed tonight. He would be bruised from his practice with Ser Lothor and she would ease his aching.

She startled when a voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"He's quite the magnificent warrior, isn't he?" said the Spider.

"Lord Varys," Sansa said in greeting. "Which one?"

He smiled at her knowingly.

It was widely known that Varys knew everyone's secrets, she had no doubt he knew she had taken Sandor into her bed. But she no longer had the patience for this game of thrones. If the Dragon Queen wanted to use it against her, she would not play this game of subtlety.

"Tell me, Lord Varys, do the birds sing in the North as well?"

He inclined his head, "My Lady, the birds sing in all corners. Even in the midst of winter."

She sighed, "Let us speak plainly. What message does the Dragon Queen have in regards to my choice in lover? Does she demand it end so as not to dishonor her Hand?"

The Spider looked genuinely surprised, "My Lady, you mistake me. As far as I know, my Queen doesn't know of your lover and she will not hear of it from me." Sansa didn't know if the Spider spoke truly or not so she remained silent.

He looked back down into the training yard. "I've heard of your troubles since you left King's Landing. A frightful history for the daughter of Lord Stark. And Clegane, the poor soul. A frightful history almost from the very beginning. A most unusual choice in lover, I must say, but a choice I admire. Every man here would give their sword arm to be invited into the Lady of Winterfell's bed. But Clegane doesn't care that you're a Stark. And you don't care about his scars."

He turned back to her, and spoke this time with a hint of urgency. "But be mindful, my Lady. Not all here feel as I do. The last thing this army needs is division and conflict and the way you look at each other is enough to cast suspicion."

She furrowed her brow. "In the same breath that you say you admire my choice, you counsel an end?"

He shook his head slowly. "You misunderstand, my Lady. It's clear you find consolation in each other, and in these dark times I would not have you end your only comfort. I only counsel caution." He sighed long, as though in defeat. "My Queen is not the leader I thought her to be. She's capable of great deeds to be sure, but terrible deeds as well. And now with the news of your cousins lineage, I fear she's becoming paranoid, like her father before her. She's constantly summoning me to uncover Northern plots to overthrow her and make Jon's parentage known."

Sansa was suspicious. The Spider was not known for his candor but for his knowledge. Why would he be sharing this information about his queen with her?

He continued, "But your cousin. Raised by the most noble man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. A fine leader. Strength and skill tempered by justice and honor. Greatly esteemed by all who know and follow him. Respected and admired by all in his domain. That is the leader this realm needs. He doesn't want the throne and that's exactly why he's most suited for it."

Sansa agreed but she had no trust for the Spider. "Lord Varys, why are you telling me this?"

He leaned in and spoke low, "Were Jon Snow to rule, you would become the Princess of Winterfell with no elder kinsman to master your fate. Should you wish to give Clegane lands and title, wed him, or keep him as your lover, no one, save the King, could stop you. And Clegane is loyal to you. I do not believe Jon Snow would stand in opposition."

She considered his words. "You cannot expect me to believe that you would seek to usurp your chosen queen so that I may have the man of my choosing. What of Daenerys Targaryen?"

He gave a deep sigh, "Your brother was right, you know. She will not yield. She's believed the throne to be hers and hers alone by right for too long to turn away now. She will not yield to a king. Not even one so good and noble as Jon Snow. Forgive me, Aegon Targaryen." Here he paused and looked at her meaningfully. "You mistrust me. I understand. For us to work together we must remedy that. What if I told you that some strange chirping has reached me? The little birds sing of a killer that can appear in any face she so chooses." Sansa had a difficult time maintaining an indifferent facade. "They tell me that this killer is here in Winterfell. A highborn, at that. In our midst. An enemy of our queen."

Sansa said carefully, "Little birds love tall tales. Who have you shared this tale with?"

While it was common knowledge that Arya was a skilled swordswoman and killer, no one, save Sansa and Bran, knew about the faces. Not even Jon.

He gave her a small smile. "Only you. Who would believe such a tale, after all?"

She could barely contain her sigh of relief. "Who indeed?"

"Perhaps you and your sister can treat with me in the Godswood tonight. The North is a strange place and your old gods are intriguing. I would like to hear more."

Sansa nodded after a moment.

He inclined his head and dismissed himself with a murmured "My Lady".

Once he was out of sight, Arya emerged from the shadows.

"He was telling the truth you know."

"About which part?" Sansa asked.

"All of it."

...

Sansa and Arya headed to the Godswood once the grounds had quieted and they were less likely to be questioned. Once they entered the Godswood, Arya disappeared into the trees.

Sansa approached the Heart Tree alone and Lord Varys was already there.

He bowed and glanced around questioningly. "My Lady, will your sister be joining us?"

Arya spoke from behind him in the croak and face of old Walder Frey, "I'm here, my Lord."

Startled, Varys turned. His eyes widened. He was stunned into shocked silence for several moments before he finally spoke. "My Lord… Lady, I beg pardon... I didn't expect it to be so..." He trailed off.

"What were you expecting?" the old man asked.

He shrugged, still grasping for words in his discomfiture, "A parlor trick. Nothing quite so convincing."

Arya/Frey walked around behind the great Heart Tree. When she came around the other side, she was herself again.

Varys only stared in wonder. "Is it true you learned to do that in Braavos?"

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

He shook his head slightly, "I suppose not. I was only curious."

"I suppose you were," she said after staring at him for a moment. "You know I also learned how to tell when someone is lying."

He gave a small smile, "I don't doubt that but I'm not here to lie."

"Then why are you here?" Sansa asked.

"It's as I said, we want the same thing. To see Aegon Targaryen sit on the Iron Throne and rule the realm of the living." He looked at Arya. "Tell me, my Lady, do I lie?"

Sansa looked at Arya, who shook her head.

"What do you propose then, Lord Varys?" Sansa asked.

He sighed despondently, "There's only one thing that can be done."

Arya smirked, "You want to kill the Dragon Queen."


	12. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point my timeline follows GOT season 7. It's weird. It's all over the place. This wasn't meant to be a very long and intricate story. There was a TON of other storylines I would have loved to incorporate (Gendry/Arya, Jaime/Brienne/Tormund, Lyanna Mormont, Tyrion, etc.) but that would have really complicated things for me and I was trying to avoid anything too OOC and too many unanswered questions.

Sandor stood behind Sansa in yet another meeting called by Tyrion.

The Dragon bitch and her armies of Dothraki and Unsullied, along with Jon Snow and the Northern Armies, had departed some time ago to march North. In truth, he was glad to see the Dragon Queen and her armies go.

The Targaryen bitch was rarely seen outside of her chambers lately and he knew there was concern that she was becoming paranoid, like her father before he went completely mad.

In Sandor's opinion, she wasn't fit to rule. Anyone that wanted the throne that badly, that they were willing to lie and cover up the truth, shouldn't sit on it. She was really no better than Cersei.

And Jon Snow, the bastard that should be King of the Seven Kingdoms, had agreed to rule only the North and keep his lineage a secret.

Sandor thought that was horse shit. Jon Snow had the legitimate claim after all. When he'd told Sansa as much, she had confided that there was a plot afoot between the Stark sisters and Varys.

When she first told him of this plot, Sandor was skeptical. Perhaps in her paranoia, the Dragon Queen had told Varys to pretend to betray her. However, Sansa insisted he was telling the truth because Arya knew he was telling the truth.

He didn't doubt the little wolf's abilities. It was Varys he didn't trust. Jumping from one ruler to the next, depending on who he preferred. Maybe he really did want Jon Snow to rule for now but who knew where his loyalties would lie once the dead were defeated.

He scowled. Although the Dragon Queen was gone, Varys and the Imp had stayed. The little translator too, along with Sansa, her little brother, and Samwell Tarly. Well them and some three thousand men.

The little wolf, Arya Stark, was supposed to stay in Winterfell but she'd disappeared shortly after the armies had departed. Sansa had written Jon but she wasn't concerned. In private, she told him that Arya was where she needed to be. He knew they plotted to do what had to be done.

The Little Bird's seer brother had told them only the day before that the Lannister Army was approaching, only weeks away. He also told them not to worry. Winter had taken care of the Starks. The hard march North from White Harbor in the dead of winter had caused much of the Lannister Army to desert or die of the cold. And their queen had no sympathy. While she camped in typical Lannister luxury her men froze to death. They would arrive at Winterfell with less than twenty-five hundred men.

It was pathetic really. Cersei marched all the way here for her brother, the Kingslayer, but he was marching straight North to join the armies to fight the dead. He would not stop in Winterfell, to the Imp's disappointment.

Now that the Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were gone, these meetings were much less formal.

Sandor scowled, Tyrion had called this meeting to question why he had only just found out that the blacksmith boy, paramour of the little wolf he thought with amusement, was actually Robert Baratheon's last living bastard. Gendry, the boy was called, had marched North with Jon Snow and Ser Davos and Tyrion questioned their motivations for not making his lineage known.

He knew Sansa was irked by this.

"Yes, because the last time we let someone's true lineage known it went over so well with your queen," she said sardonically.

Tyrion tilted his head sideways and pursed his lips, "That was different. Varys you knew of this all along and said nothing. Why not?"

Varys spoke up. "My dear Tyrion, you know why. Our queen grows more and more paranoid and Gendry is a good lad." He gave Sansa a knowing look. Of course he knew of the boy and the little wolf. "I didn't want to risk his life."

Tyrion's eyebrows furrowed, "She wouldn't have killed him." At Varys' skeptical look, he continued, "The Tarly's were different."

Varys nodded knowingly. "You're quite right. The Tarlys had no claim to the Iron Throne. But Gendry Baratheon, whom Jon Snow will legitimize when he becomes King, depending upon where your loyalties lie, the boy might have the best claim to the Throne."

The Dragon Queen's loyal translator spoke up at this, "He has no claim to the throne. His father was a usurper. And traitors should be put to death."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Tell me Missandei," Sansa said after a moment, "would you bow to a ruler besides Daenerys Targaryen: Aegon Targaryen, Gendry Baratheon, or Cersei Lannister?"

"Of course not," the girl said resolutely.

Sansa looked at her meaningfully. "Should you be burned alive for that? For your loyalty? Or Grey Worm, for that matter? Neither of you would yield to another ruler. Should you be killed or allowed to return home? Gendry has no desire to rule Westeros. He only wants to live in peace."

The girl said nothing.

"Dark wings, dark words." Bran said unexpectedly, staring into the fire.

At that, there was a knock on the door and Maester Wolkan was escorted in.

"I apologize for the interruption. A message has just arrived for Lord Tyrion from Queen Daenerys."

The Imp took the message and quickly read it as Maester Wolkan left.

His expression became grave and he handed it to Lord Varys. Lord Varys read it and paled.

"Must we?" he croaked to Tyrion.

"We must, I'm afraid." The Imp looked around the room. "Our Queen summons us to her camp."

Varys slumped in his seat, "Demands. She demands we march North to her camp."

The Little Bird was looking at Varys worriedly. "Why?"

Sandor briefly wondered if the dragon bitch had discovered the plot between them until Sansa's cripple brother spoke up. "Jaime Lannister has arrived to join the fight against the dead. She's imprisoned him and the Lannister men. She was going to have her dragons burn them alive but Jon was able to convince her that they would be more valuable to fight the dead. She plans to put them on the front lines when they meet the dead on the battlefield. Now she questions your loyalty. Both of you."

Sandor didn't think it was possible, but Varys paled even more. He looked to the cripple gravely, "My Lord, I know you don't see the future, but please, are we being summoned to our deaths?"

Sandor thought the Imp might object, tout the mercy and magnanimity of his queen, but he noticed Tyrion was also looking at Bran anxiously awaiting his answer.

Bran turned to them, "Most likely."

…

Sandor lay next to Sansa in her chambers. Her head was on his chest and he stroked her long, auburn locks. She was usually quite talkative after their nightly activities but now she was quiet, contemplative. She would speak when she was ready.

He knew the Dragon Queen's increasing paranoia was worrying her. He didn't know how much of their plan involved Varys but if the Targaryen girl killed him, would their plan still succeed? He resisted the urge to ask her. She would tell him if she wished.

Finally she sighed, "I should have left with you the night the Blackwater burned. We could be far from here, far from these games of thrones, from the war and the dead."

He looked at her in surprise for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "No Little Bird. 'There must always be a Stark in Winterfell'. 'Winter is coming.' 'Family, duty, honor'. Isn't that what you Starks are always yammering on about? You are the Stark in Winterfell and winter is here. This is your duty. You're where you belong Sansa."

She looked at him and placed her palm over his heart gently. "Sandor, my duty is to my heart and you are my family. Winter is here and we will weather it together."

He pulled her close and kissed her soundly. "Aye, Little Bird, together."

She nestled into his side, as though to get even closer. "Sandor, Jon will rule Westeros." At his questioning look, she gave a slight shake of her head. "Varys helped us plan but it can still be carried out without him. It's all in Arya's hands now."

She continued, "Should we win the war against the dead, Jon will be King of Westeros and he will legitimize Gendry, Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and, with House Tyrell gone, Warden of the South."

Sandor let out a short bark of laughter in surprise, "The little wolf must love that."

Sansa smiled, "Aye, Lord and Lady Baratheon of Storm's End. Has a nice ring to it."

She sat up, still not done, "Jon will need good men, loyal men, to replace the fallen. So many dead and gone, he will reward loyalty with lordships and lands." She hesitated uncertainly, "Sandor, I know we haven't discussed it, what will happen after this war should we survive…"

She trailed off and Sandor paused. He knew what she left unsaid. He loved her and she loved him, of that he was certain. Though they never said it, he knew it as well as he knew his own name. And any future he had would be by her side, be it fighting the Lannisters or the dead or ruling the living.

He sat up quickly and pulled her close. "Sansa, you will survive. We will survive. Together, as we said. And I'll give you my cloak beneath your bloody carven tree and if your kingly cousin has to bestow lands and titles to quiet the talk amongst the other lords, then I'll take them. And you'll rule the North capably and ably as you have been. And once we're gone, our sons will rule the North."

"Oh Sandor," she said breathlessly. She turned to him then, her face so full of love and happiness that he couldn't help but smile in return.


	13. Sansa

Sansa sat in the Great Hall at the head table with Sandor behind her, the Northern lords and Valemen that hadn't marched North, sitting on either side, eagerly watching the proceedings.

Cersei Lannister stood before Sansa, her head held high though she was surrounded by enemies.

So much had happened in so short a time, Sansa could barely process it all.

The remnants of the Lannister Army had arrived at Winterfell less than a fortnight prior. A sorry sight it was, only a thousand men, a once powerful army brought low by the cold. Upon arriving they made a half-hearted attempt to storm Winterfell.

Several of the Northern Lords, and Lord Royce also, had wanted to open the gates of Winterfell and meet the Lannisters on the battlefield. They claimed that the Lannisters could be defeated in one fell swoop with minimal casualties and the remaining men could march North to assist Jon.

Sansa convinced them that it was that sort of arrogance that had caused Ramsay's defeat during the Battle of the Bastards. It was fortunate that she did.

After several days of these half-hearted efforts, the rest of the Lannister Army emerged from the forest. An additional thousand men. They renewed their efforts to penetrate Winterfell's walls with previously unseen enthusiasm. The Northmen were able to repel them with very few casualties. Cersei couldn't say the same.

Only two nights before, a messenger from the Lannister camp approached Winterfell and asked to treat with the Lady of Winterfell. He said that he spoke for the Lannister Army, not for Cersei. The Lannister camp had only just received word that Euron Greyjoy was defeated and would not be coming to assist them. Without the support of the Greyjoys, they knew it was a lost cause. The men had pleaded with their queen to retreat or surrender but she refused and demanded they fight. This messenger said that the majority of the Lannister Army was ready and willing to surrender, pledge their allegiance to the living, and march North to fight the dead.

With Tyrion and Varys gone, Sansa had called a meeting with the leadership that remained in Winterfell.

Although she wanted to include Bran, he was otherwise engaged. Soon after the Lannister Army had arrived at Winterfell, he told her that Jon and the Dragon Queen and their armies were very near to battling the dead and he would have to remain locked in his chambers or in the Godswood to assist in any way he could. Though she needed his all seeing eyes, she knew it was more important that he do everything in his power to aid Jon and Arya.

So she met with the lords and told them everything the Lannister man told her. Sandor accompanied her, of course.

There was not much discussion among them. Most agreed that it was only a matter of time before the Lannisters surrendered, fled, or mutinied.

They had brought the Lannister messenger in and told him that if they would surrender their queen and the Mountain, they would be pardoned and allowed to march North to join the fight against the dead. He agreed and said he would need two days to coordinate it with his men. The Mountain was fearsome after all and he would never betray his queen.

It had all gone as anticipated. Sansa had stood in the Great Hall as Lannister men brought Cersei and the Mountain in, the latter bound tightly and struggling against many ropes.

She could feel Sandor's wrath at his brother's presence but to his credit, he kept it carefully reined in behind a mask of cold indifference.

Sansa too, kept her own emotions in check. As a child kept hostage in King's Landing she had feared and despised Cersei Lannister. Cersei, formerly beautiful, in her prime, had aged noticeably. Her once long and lustrous blond hair was gone, replaced by thin, short cropped locks, interspersed with gray. Her enraged expression emphasized the wrinkles on her forehead and dark circles under her eyes.

As expected, though she was soundly defeated, she would not yield.

"Cersei Lannister," Sansa said, "You stand accused of murder, conspiracy, adultery, incest, high treason, bribery, and many other things that we haven't the time to recount. How do you plead?"

Cersei smiled coldly, "Should I expect justice surrounded by enemies? But you're a Stark of the most noble and honorable House Stark." She laughed but it was a dry and hollow sound. "Northern whore, let's not play at justice. I demand a trial by combat. My champion, Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain That Rides, against yours."

There was an uproar in the hall. Indignation at her words but fear, as everyone there knew of the Mountain's fearsome reputation.

Her mocking laughter rang throughout the Great Hall. "Tell me, Lady Stark, who will defend the North?"

There was silence at this, none wanting to inadvertently volunteer. But nearly as soon as the silence began was it broken by a harsh, rasping voice that was as familiar to her as her own.

"Me." Sandor said.


	14. Sandor

"So long as I have this," he said, lifting the sword from her throat, "there's no man on earth I need fear."

Except your brother, Sansa thought, but she had better sense than to say it aloud. He is a dog, just as he says. A half-wild, mean-tempered dog that bites any hand that tries to pet him, and yet will savage any man who tries to hurt his masters. "Not even the men across the river?".. What will you do when he crosses?"

"Fight. Kill. Die, maybe."

"Aren't you afraid? The gods might send you down to some terrible hell for all the evil you've done."

"What evil?" He laughed. "What gods?"

"The gods who made us all."

"All?" he mocked. "Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."

"True knights protect the weak."

He snorted. "There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."

Sansa backed away from him. "You're awful."

"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful. Now fly away, little bird, I'm sick of you peeping at me."

Wordless, she fled. She was afraid of Sandor Clegane . . . and yet, some part of her wished that Ser Dontos had a little of the Hound's ferocity. There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies."

Excerpt from A Clash of Kings

...  
...  
...

Sandor stood before Sansa in the courtyard of Winterfell, a light snow falling around them. He was dressed for battle, wearing full armor, lacking only the hounds head helm. The Little Bird had knitted him her favor, a direwolf and a hound beneath a great red weirwood tree with a little blue bird perched on it's branch, which she had tied loosely around his wrist, hidden beneath his gauntlet.

While all Valyrian steel had gone North to fight the White Walkers, before departing the Baratheon bastard had forged Sandor an impressive long sword at the Little Bird's request. He had only practiced with this sword but today it would spill his brother's blood.

Though they were usually careful not to do anything that might be considered "improper" in front of the other lords, Sansa had not taken her eyes off of him since they arrived in the courtyard.

She spoke to him quietly, her expression full of tender concern, "The Mountain wears the armor he came with. I was told he refused to take it off and though his sword isn't Valyrian steel, it's the finest blade that Lannister gold could buy. But the sword Gendry forged is strong; a fine blade-"

"Sansa," he interrupted her nervous chatter.

He knew she worried for him. She would have been a fool not to and Sansa was no fool.

The night prior they had made love feverishly and passionately. He had tried to show her, as best he could, all that she meant to him. Afterwards, they spoke little. The Mountain between them. They had slept little, both cherishing the time they had together.

This morning they had lain next to each other, both awake, neither speaking, waiting on the summons. She had put her hand over his heart and spoken quietly, "Sandor, please don't leave me alone in this world."

He propped himself on one elbow, facing her, "I'm not going anywhere, Little Bird. Today my brother will meet his end, Cersei Lannister will face the sword, and another two thousand Lannister men will march North to help your kingly cousin. And when all is said and done, I'll give you my cloak. A hound will never lie to you, remember?"

She had smiled tremulously, her eyes full of hope and fear, and nodded.

Now, standing before her, he rasped softly, "I'll not leave you alone, Little Bird."

Her expression changed to one of determination and she nodded. She looked to Lord Glover and Lady Karstark, seated at her left, and Bronze Yohn, seated at her right. All nodded.

Cersei and his brother stood across the courtyard. Lannister men, Northmen, and Valemen surrounding to watch. The would be queen was staring at Sansa with malice, no doubt certain of her champion's impending victory.

Sandor scowled. Today they would both die.

Sansa stood. "Cersei Lannister," her voice rang out, clear and unyielding, "today you stand accused of many crimes. We have gathered to ascertain your guilt or innocence in the the sight of the old gods and man in a trial by combat. The North remembers."

Sandor gave her one last look, which she returned with a nod, then he turned and stepped off the dais. Gregor was given a sword, which he took silently but eagerly, and walked forward. Sandor drew his own longsword and stepped forward to meet him.


	15. Sansa

"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that's more than little birds can do, isn't it? I never got my song."

"I… I know a song about Florian and Jonquil."

"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."

"I will sing it for you gladly."

Sandor Clegane snorted. "Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here… and every one better than you."

Excerpt from A Clash of Kings

…  
…  
...

 

Sansa stood on the dais watching the man she loved engaged in a terrible and deadly battle with the man he despised. She didn't doubt Sandor's abilities, but the Mountain was massive and brutal and impossibly fast for a man of his stature. But Sandor was up to the task, meeting him blow for savage blow. Both men were exceedingly skilled and dreadfully strong. It was almost beautiful in it's graceful savagery.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. After Joffrey and Tyrion and Ramsey she'd wanted nothing to do with a husband. She assumed that eventually she would have to marry to carry on the Stark name but she thought it would be a man with a strong lineage that she would tolerate, not love. She no longer had a head filled with songs of true love and valiant knights.

But Sandor. As a girl in King's Landing, she hadn't understood the feelings she had for him. He was her protector but he was no valiant knight. He hated knights. But over time she had grown and learned. Learned that love wasn't a song and he was perhaps the truest knight she'd ever known. During her time in the Vale and after her marriage to Ramsay, she oft had wished he was there to protect her. And seeing him again in Winterfell was the answer to a prayer she never dared to pray.

And gods, how she loved him. She could see their future so clearly. He would give her his cloak beneath the great red weirwood in the sight of the old gods and Jon and Arya and Bran. They would be Lord and Lady of Winterfell, wardens of the North. They would have many children, little dark haired, blue-eyed sons and auburn haired, grey-eyed daughters. Babes that would grow up in Winterfell under their parents love, strength, and wisdom. A future that could only come to pass if he slaughtered his brother.

The brothers had been battling for some time, though minutes or hours she could not say in her worry, when the Mountain swung his great sword towards Sandor's unprotected head. Sandor ducked and came up with the hilt of his sword hard into the Mountain's face. A piercing clang reverberated through the courtyard as the Mountain's helm was knocked off his head and sent sailing into the snow.

An audible gasp was heard throughout the crowd.

The Mountain was not a man. The flesh of his face was grayish purple, hanging off in some places, as though decomposing as he lived. His eyes were red, where they should have been white. And when he roared in anger, an inhuman sound, she saw his few remaining teeth were stained red and black.

She stared in horror but to her great surprise Sandor laughed. It was a harsh sound, mocking.

"You're uglier than I am now, brother."

Sword met sword again and again.

In the clamor of the fight, no one noticed the Lannister men stealthily take up arms. Not until it was too late.

Sansa was so engaged in watching Sandor battle his brother that it wasn't until Lord Royce next to her, swore.

"Lannister traitors! Valemen to arms!" he shouted, drawing his own sword and stepping in front of Sansa to defend her.

To her other side, Lord Glover and Lady Karstark were shouting to their men also. "Northmen to arms!"

Commotion reigned while the two brothers in the middle of the courtyard never stopped their lethal dance. Valemen and Northmen crossed steel with the traitorous Lannister men. She could hear shouts of "hear me roar!", "as high as honor!", and "winter is here!" amid the din of clashing metal.

She could hear Cersei's laughter above the pandemonium, maniacal and raving.

The fighting closed in as men ran to and fro. Lord Royce had shouted at her to get indoors but it was nigh impossible with so many Lannister men about. Fortunately Lord Royce and Glover cut down any man that came too near the platform but spears were flying about and Lord Glover took a spear to his side. He shouted in pain and anger but continued fighting. Lady Karstark had already fallen to Lannister swords.

Sansa kept her eyes on Sandor. He had noticed the fighting and he was distracted now. And desperate. He was moving closer to the dais in an attempt to protect her and fight the Mountain.

A Lannister man attempted to run past him and towards the platform but he was cut down by Sandor's longsword. In his distraction, the Mountain brought his great sword down hard on Sandor's left side. Sandor was only just able to avoid being impaled but the Mountain's sword caught him against his greaves and he stumbled to his knees.

Sansa saw it from the corner of her eye. A Lannister man to the right of the platform with a spear turned to the men engaged in deadly combat only steps away from her. She saw him aim it for Sandor's chest.

She stood there feeling as though time had stopped. She had a decision to make but it was no decision really.

She remembered him once telling her that a hound would die for you but never lie to you and it was more than little birds could do. But she was no little bird. She was a Stark, in her ancestral home. A wolf.

She heard Sandor as though he was far away, his voice full of anguish, "NO!"

Sansa ran in front of him and felt the spear pierce her chest.


	16. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY!
> 
> FYI, valonqar = little brother

"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."

Go, the dreaming queen thought, hold your tongue, and flee. But the girl did not have sense enough to be afraid.

"When will I wed the prince?" she asked.

"Never. You will wed the king."

Beneath her golden curls, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement… "I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."...

The old woman was not done with her… "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

Excerpt from A Feast for Crows - Cersei's POV

…  
…  
...

Sandor cursed inwardly. His brother was a vicious fucker.

Once Sandor knocked his helm off, he could see that this thing he battled was no more human than the thing they had brought South to King's Landing. Not that it mattered. He would kill it nonetheless.

Sandor moved and swung this way and that. The sword made by the blacksmith boy was strong and true. A lesser weapon would have crumbled beneath the strength of the Mountain. A lesser man as well.

Unfortunately, Sandor didn't think this thing would grow weary and the Mountain's armor was sturdy. He searched for a weakness as he landed and dodged blows.

He thought he found a flaw, a loose gorget beneath the helm exposing part of the Mountain's neck, when he finally perceived that something was terribly wrong.

Men were fighting all around the courtyard, Lannister's fighting Northmen and Valemen, and only Glover and Bronze Yohn and a few other soldiers were near the platform to protect Sansa.

He growled in anger. The fucking Lannister's had betrayed them. It was a cunning plan actually. The Lannister Army was decimated by the cold. There was no way to defeat the Northmen. They were outnumbered and outmatched. But Cersei Lannister would be defeated no matter who ruled in the end, the dead, the Dragon Queen, or Jon Snow. She recognized this and planned accordingly: a suicide mission designed to kill as many as she could.

Sandor attempted to make his way towards the platform whilst still fighting his brother. He would protect Sansa. He had promised Sansa and Brienne and Jon Snow. He had told Sansa that they would live and he was no liar.

A Lannister shit attempted to pass him on his way to the dais and Sandor cut him nearly in half with the force of the blow. But whilst his sword was otherwise engaged, the Mountain brought his sword down. Sandor ducked to the right but the sword grazed his greaves and caused him to stumble. He caught himself on his knees.

Through all this he had attempted to keep his eyes on Sansa. He saw her look to her right and there was another Lannister man with his spear aimed directly for Sandor. In that moment he saw her face so clearly, her expression determined and resolute, unafraid, and he knew what she would do.

"NO!" He shouted.

But it was too late. She ran and threw herself in the path of the spear as the Lannister man loosed it.

The spear pierced her chest all the way through. The force of it threw her backwards. She lay in the snow, unmoving.

He roared.

In his rage and anguish, even the mighty Mountain could not withstand him. The Mountain brought his sword down again whilst Sandor got to his feet and brought his own sword up to the exposed portion of his brother's neck. He heard his blade meet flesh and bone as it pierced the Mountain's skull, coming out of the top of his head. He heard the Mountain's great sword clang as it fell and another great thud as it's wielder followed.

Sandor ran to Sansa laying prostrate and kneeled before her. Her blue eyes were open and her breathing was labored as she looked at him.

"Gods Sansa!" he rasped, "Fuck! Why would you do that?"

He wanted to remove the spear but he feared it might mean her life, so instead, he pulled her to him as gently as he could. Her head slumped against his knees. He caressed her face tenderly.

Amidst the clamor he shouted to no one in particular, "Someone fetch the maester!"

It seemed to cost her great effort to speak. "It's okay, Sandor." She whispered.

"No..." He could feel a warm wetness on his face. "Together, as we said. Remember, Little Bird?"

"I remember." She sighed and lifted her hand to his. "But I'm no little bird. I'm free. In the home of my ancestors where I belong. A wolf like my father. A Stark."

He'd seen enough death to recognize the life fading from her eyes.

"NO! SANSA!" He shouted in anguish.

"Sandor," she whispered one last time. Her gaze faded to the sky behind him and her grip on his hand loosened and fell.

He bellowed. A sound full of heartache and misery. Of lost hope and a future that would never be.

Sandor didn't know how long he kneeled with her in the snow. At some point the maester finally arrived but Sandor knew it was too late.

He finally registered his surroundings. The Lannister's were soundly defeated. Their dead lay strewn about. The last of them were laying down their arms when he heard it.

Laughter, high and wild. Cersei Lannister.

She stood at the same end of the courtyard opposite the platform. Bronze Yohn and several other men had her bound.

"Your Stark bitch is dead." She laughed.

He rose to his feet and approached her.

"Clegane," Bronze Yohn said as he got closer. "Lady Sansa? Is it true?"

Sandor didn't answer. He stopped right in front of Cersei, her mocking smile never leaving her face, then wrapped his hands about her pale, white throat.

He could hear some of the men shouting around him. Bronze Yohn included, yelling firmly, "Clegane! This is not the way we do things!"

He didn't look away as he choked the life from her, her eyes bulging and purple, her face red.

He could feel when they started to pry his arms away from the Lannister bitch but it only renewed his grip.

He could feel when the bones of her neck cracked and broke beneath his hands but he still wouldn't let up.

The last thing he felt was the hilt of Bronze Yohn's sword on the back of his head and then all was mercifully void.


	17. Arya

Arya walked to the Godswood with Bran and Jon. Jon would be departing back to King's Landing soon and Bran would travel far north to live out his days as the Three-Eyed Raven. This was likely the last time the three of them would ever be together again.

It was a year since the Great War ended. Since she, wearing no one's face, loosed an arrow that found its way to the Dragon Queen's heart just as Jon was defeating the Night King. A year since that arrow made her brother King of the Seven Kingdoms (for Jon would always be her brother).

The realm was all the better for it. Each day the Dragon Queen was becoming more and more like her father. So much so that even Jon couldn't deny it. Before she died she'd had Varys burned alive because he had the audacity to suggest that Jon Snow might have the stronger claim to the throne.

Tyrion had only just escaped alive. He had tried to save Jaime from the front lines but instead, she demanded he join his brother. It was a death sentence to the Imp but in the throes of battle Jaime had given his life to protect his little brother. Brienne had died fighting at his side. Tyrion was now Lord of Casterly Rock, the last of the Lannisters.

Jon was a great king, known as King Aegon Targaryen now. With the Great War won, there were none left to challenge his claim, though none wanted to. He was the hero that saved the realm with a hard fought sword through the Night King's skull.

Gendry may have had a claim, had he wished to pursue it, but he was loyal to Jon and Arya most of all. As a reward for that loyalty, Jon had legitimized him, given him the Baratheon name, and made him Lord of Storm's End. One day he would be Warden of the South but until then he was learning to rule justly and wisely.

Since Sansa's death, Arya was now the Lady of Winterfell and they were a good match. Lord and Lady of two great houses, uniting houses Stark and Baratheon like old King Robert had wanted all along.

Sansa would have been happy for them.

Arya and Jon hadn't made it back to Winterfell in time for Sansa's burial. Bronze Yohn Royce had greatly respected Sansa and had seen to all the arrangements himself.

They had received his raven several days after the final battle for the living informing them of Sansa's fate. Later they learned that the battle at Winterfell occurred the same day as the final battle against the dead. They were still piecing the remnants of their army together, attempting to figure out how to get the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied back across the sea, none wanting to stay without their queen. The dragons were dead.

Bronze Yohn's letter was brief, saying that a messenger would be along shortly with more details but Arya left that very day, against Jon's wishes. Gendry accompanied her, of course.

By the time they arrived at Winterfell, the Hound had disappeared. She was told by Bronze Yohn that after the spear went through Sansa's chest, the Hound stayed with her as she died and then proceeded to kill Cersei Lannister with his bare hands. It had taken many men to subdue him. Once he awoke he refused to leave Sansa's side and disappeared immediately following her burial. She was sorry for him.

Sansa was her sister and she mourned but the Hound had loved her deeply, for more years than either of them knew. She had hoped he would stay and serve House Stark, serve her or Jon, but none had seen or heard from him since.

They arrived at the Godswood, silently reverent of Sansa and the Hound's preferred meeting place.

"I should have been here." Arya said quietly. "I could have saved her."

In truth, she felt guilty. While she was up North executing their plan, her sister had died.

"A stray spear and now there's only two of us." She said to Bran.

"No," he replied. "Not stray. It was meant for Sandor Clegane and it would have killed him. She did it to protect him. She loved him and he loved her. After the burial I found him here. I told him that Jon would likely bestow upon him knighthood, lordship, lands, anything he wanted, for his service and loyalty."

He turned to Arya. "He told me to bugger off. He said, 'I don't want that shit. I only ever wanted one thing.' He disappeared that very day."

Jon sighed, "Can you see him Bran? I would still like to find him. He loved Sansa and he shouldn't be alone now that she's gone."

Bran's eyes went white and he was silent for a moment. "Yes. I can see him. But he doesn't want to be found."

"Well where is he?" Jon asked. "I would like to at least try."

Arya shook her head. "No Jon. If he doesn't want to be found then we should respect his wishes. He might come around one day." She turned to Bran. "Can you see it? When she died? Did she suffer?"

Bran could see it with no effort. Sansa was of the North after all. "Aye, I can see it. She took the spear to save his life knowing it meant hers. He put his sword through the Mountain's skull and went to her. She died in his arms, not in pain and suffering, but with the one she loved. She told him…" At this he paused. "She told him it was okay. She was where she belonged. She was home. His name was the last thing she said."

Arya could feel a stray tear run down her face. She wiped it away absentmindedly. "Was there nothing you could have done?" She asked Bran. At first she had been angry that her all-seeing brother had not forseen the Lannister betrayal and warned them.

He had calmly explained, in that manner he had, that those last few days of the battle with the dead, he had been warging into one of the dragons. The energy it required had nearly killed him. But both dragons had defeated the resurrected dragon, though all fell in the battle.

Bran touched the carven face of the heart tree. "I could have saved her but then you all would have fallen to the dead. And she would have ended up dying anyway, once the dead marched South. This was the only way."

Jon put a comforting hand on Arya's shoulder.

They stayed for awhile longer. Together, reminiscing of what had once been until it was finally time to return.

Arya met Gendry in the solar where he was consulting with Ser Davos, the Hand of the King. As she approached, the Onion Knight excused himself.

She sat near the fire and Gendry joined her.

"Are you alright?" he asked with concern.

She sighed, "I will be."

"Did you tell them?"

"What?" she asked curiously. "That I'm with child? Or that we married in secret last night because you want no one to call our child a bastard? As though they would dare." She challenged.

He grinned at her. "Either? Both?"

She shook her head. "Bran already knows and Jon has enough to deal with. Besides I think you should be the one to tell him. You could use a lesson in diplomacy."

He laughed and pulled her to him. "Aye, Lady Baratheon, I'll tell him soon."

She humphed, "I doubt I'll get used to that." She lay her head against his chest. "I'm a Stark. A Stark like my father and my mother and my brothers and my sister. A wolf."


	18. Epilogue

Many Years Later:

Arya sat in the Godswood of Winterfell beneath the carven face of the great red weirwood where it seemed so many lifetimes ago her sister had sat, graceful and noble and beautiful, ever the Lady of Winterfell. But Arya was the Lady of Winterfell now and Storm's End. She had been for nigh on twenty-five years.

Her eldest son, Eddard Baratheon, was being groomed to rule the South so Gendry could join her in Winterfell. Only recently had she told him that she was tired of the South and wanted to go home. These past twenty-five years she had given him four sons and two daughters. He was loathe to deny her anything.

She touched the carven face of the tree. She loved Gendry dearly but Winterfell was and always would be her home.

She recalled a moment long ago, her and Sansa standing on the ramparts of Winterfell before Jon arrived with the Dragon Queen and her armies, the calm before the storm, she thought.

"In winter we must protect ourselves." She said aloud. "Look after one another. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

A harsh, rasping voice broke the silence. A voice she hadn't heard since the Great War. "Little wolf," was all he said.

He emerged from the trees, still one of the largest men she'd ever seen. His hair was flecked with gray, wrinkles around his forehead and mouth, still heavily muscled even in his older years. But his scars were the same as she remembered.

"Sandor Clegane," she said steadily. "It's been too long."

He looked around, "I'd say it's been long enough."

They were silent for a moment, both lost in memories of a dear loved one, long dead and gone.

Arya cleared her throat, "How long will you stay?"

To her great surprise, he kneeled before her. "Lady Baratheon, I've come to serve House Stark. If you'll have me."

In her surprise she was silent for several moments.

"Get up you great brute!" She exclaimed finally. "And never call me 'Lady Baratheon' again. Next time I'll have your head," she said with much amusement.

She sighed more seriously as he got to his feet, surprisingly graceful for a man of his age and stature. "Sandor, you were to be my good brother. You don't have to ask to serve House Stark. You don't have to serve at all. You will always have a place here."

They both turned towards the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

It was her middle son, a lad of thirteen, and her youngest daughter, only four. She thought it fitting that her daughter should be here to meet the Hound. Perhaps like calls to like, she thought.

"Mother," her son Robert said. "Sansa wanted to visit the Godswood. We didn't know you were here."

She reached up and pulled Sansa off the horse.

"I should have known to bring you with me." She said to her daughter. "Just like your namesake."

Robert was sizing Sandor up, ready to protect his mother, though she needed no protecting. "Mother, are you alright? Shall I summon Ser Lothor?"

The threat of Ser Lothor Brune might have made Sandor laugh, but he was staring at her youngest daughter who stared right back, unafraid.

Arya spoke to her son firmly, "No Robert. This is a friend. Now go on to your lessons. I'll take Sansa back with me when we're done here."

He nodded to his mother, cast one look back at Sandor, and trotted off on his horse.

There was silence for a moment.

Her daughter was a near perfect reproduction of her namesake, with thick auburn hair, vivid blue eyes, and high cheekbones visible even through her round baby face. She had the look of a Tully through and through.

Arya spoke, "She's the only one of my children with the Tully look. The others all look of the North or Baratheon. But she loves the cold and Winterfell. The others love the South."

Sandor cleared his throat and approached the child slowly, "Sansa," he croaked, quietly.

To his astonishment, the little girl held her arms out to him to be carried. He looked at Arya questioningly.

She nodded, "It's alright. You can take her."

Sandor took her into his arms carefully, as though handling a dainty package. The child looked into his face intently. He attempted to turn the burned side of his face away but she put her small hand on his chin and firmly guided his face so she could see him, burns and all.

Finally she smiled, "You're Sandor Clegane. You loved my aunt Sansa. She was very beautiful. I look just like her. And you killed the Lannister bitch." She spoke as though to an old friend.

Sandor let out a loud bark of laughter at that and Arya scolded her daughter.

"Sansa! You know better than to use that language."

"But Mother," her daughter's delicate brow furrowed in confusion, "that's what you call her."

Arya waved her daughter's comment away, "yes, but let's not tell your father."

The child wiggled to be let down and grabbed Sandor's hand to lead him to the great weirwood. Sansa raised her arms to Sandor indicating she wanted to sit in the exact spot her aunt sat so many times. Arya saw Sandor hesitate.

"Please ser?" the girl asked.

At this the Hound responded. He lifted the child to her preferred destination and said, "Not a ser, Little Bird."

She giggled at this. "Little Bird? I like that." She looked to her mother. "Mother, can I stay here with Sandor? Please. I want him to tell me all about my aunt Sansa."

Arya gave Sandor a questioning look. He nodded once.

She replied to her daughter, "Yes, that's alright with me little one. But mind your manners and don't go running off. Wouldn't want the Night King to steal you from me."

The child's eyes widened. "Sandor will protect me. Won't you Sandor?" She turned to him, her face full of a child's trust.

His mouth twitched into a smile, "As my lady commands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end folks. I got the idea after season 6 ended and finally finished it last December. I initially posted it on fanfiction.net but I've been wanting to post it here too. I made a couple of slight modifications. It's been a joy and a pain to write but most deeply satisfying. I really hope you enjoyed it even though there wasn't a happy ending. 
> 
> So even though this is the end, I'd still love to hear what you thought of this story, the characters, the plot, the ending. Please read and review! :)


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